


Destiny Calls

by clockworkswan



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Isabelle Lightwood, Bigotry & Prejudice, Epic Battles, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Final Battle, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Personal Growth, Quests, Slow Build, Slow Burn, but it does not go excused, like....a long time sorry, not really sorry though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 300,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkswan/pseuds/clockworkswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Knights of the Round Table/quest inspired AU.<br/>When Prince Alec and his knights venture into the mysterious Shadowlands - home to downworlders, and fearsome creatures - to retrieve the Mortal Cup, they soon learn about an upcoming war. Dark magic has begun to call to creatures and mortals alike. A race to prevent the Cup from falling into the evil, exiled Lord Valentine's hands adds even more danger to the prince's quest.<br/>On the way, he finds himself falling for the warlock, Magnus Bane. There, they must battle demons, test their courage and maybe take on the most dangerous task of all; falling in love.<br/>Loyalties are tested and hearts are swayed, but who will destiny call to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Quest

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a combination of Arthurian, Medieval and Merlin stories!  
> I've always loved the mythology and could not stop myself from writing a malec version of the Holy Grail quest.  
> Happy reading!

_ Prologue _

**_20 years ago_ **

“W-who are you?”

The little boy stares.

The man is a warlock. He’s quite sure of it.

Of course, growing up in Idris one is bound to see all kinds of folk; mortals, fairies, werewolves, and yes, warlocks too.

But the boy has never seen a warlock in person, and so…

“You have dust on your eyes," the boy says plainly.

This makes the warlock smile. It is a small, hesitant gesture, but one that smooths out the worries on his handsome face.

“Believe me, I am _well_ aware." The warlock smirks. "I look rather fetching. Would you agree?”

The boy stands in the doorway, watching the warlock for a moment. The wild patterns and bold colours. The shimmering cat eyes. The little dancing movements his fingers give as they scurry along the books in the castle library.

He is now completely certain he is talking with a warlock. 

What he doesn’t know is why there’s a warlock in the library.

In _his_ library.

“Are you frightened of me, my dear?” The warlock’s voice is like honey; warm and gentle. It threatens to carry the boy into a dream. But there is also a flicker of worry in his gaze. “I suppose you hate warlocks too, hm?”

The boy frowns at that. “Why would I hate warlocks?”

At that, the warlock reacts quite suddenly. A look of shock appears. He tries to cover it quickly, but the boy sees it and tilts his head.

Fishing out another book, the warlock turns his back on the boy and continues on. There is a tense edge to his voice now. “Well, the King and Queen do not care much for us. Or for any other creature other than their mortal selves.”

Shyly, the boy looks down. “Sorry," he mutters, guilt written on his face.

The warlock then turns back to him with a smile. His expression softens. “Now why would you be sorry? I came of my own accord.”

He winks, teasing the boy. “Unless you could speak to the King and Queen for me?”

The boy realises then that the warlock does not know who he is. Who he is speaking to.

The boy scolds himself silently. Of course. Why would he recognise him?

After all, he may be a prince, and the heir to the throne, but he stands in the doorway like a hesitant servant. He opens his mouth to reveal his name, but closes it quickly. He quite likes having the blank slate. A conversation without titles or hidden agendas. It makes for a nice change in a palace filled with guards and whispering lords waiting to corrupt his young ears.

So, the boy asks, “Why are you here, sir? In the palace?”

The warlock smirks, and it is the first sign of his true self; the playfulness, the way he enjoys an audience. Though the warlock’s cat eyes radiate power, the boy finds him gentle; his movements coy. He is nothing like the downworlders his parents have quietly feared. For the powers they cannot ever hope to compete with.

One of the warlock’s many rings jingles pleasantly as he speaks. “The Lightwoods have a rare collection of spell books that they kept after ransacking – sorry, _disarming_ – a warlock I once knew.”

Bitterness clouds the warlock’s face for a moment, and then it clears again. “I asked to borrow one. They reluctantly agreed. End of story. And how about you, dear boy? What brings you to the light magic section of the library?”

The boy shifts on his feet, ready to dart if the warlock begins to suspect who he really is. “I, uh, was told to collect a book too!” he lies. “But I- I think I’m in the wrong section. This, uh, doesn’t look like the place for cookery books.”

The warlock snorts in agreement. He carefully scoops up the book - a large, leather-bound volume that has gathered dust over time - and steps towards the door. He glances down at the boy again.

A ring-clad hand reaches out and slowly brushes the boy’s necklace. His touch is gentle and the boy’s breath catches slightly. Powerful magic crackles like energy beneath the man’s hands, making the boy gasp.

The warlock’s eyes narrow, but his expression is still soft. “I did not realise that servants wore such finery.”

The boy swallows. Hard.

With a shaking hand, he bats the warlock’s hand away and clasps the ring dangling from a silver chain. The family ring. Which bears the royal crest quite clearly.

“S-sorry," the boy stammers out. He ducks his head again, ashamed of his lies.

After the words he had spoken about his parents, he feels that the warlock will hate him too. Hate his lineage. Hate the trouble his family have caused upon the kingdom’s downworlders.

Instead, the warlock looks taken aback. He tilts the boy’s chin up, carefully, and smiles. “Hm. You are something else, Alexander.”

Alec’s breath hitches again as the warlock’s golden, cat eyes meet his human ones.

There are lifetimes hidden in the warlock’s eyes, memories and losses and loves, and the boy wants to ask so many questions about them.

Before he can say anything, the warlock takes a step back. “Soon, you will see the divide between men and beast. Mortals and creatures like myself. And I am sorry for it. The world will take your innocence and twist it into fear, and there is not a damn thing I can do to stop it. Forgive me."

The boy’s eyes widen. Will he really grow to hate him? To look at a warlock’s beauty and see it as a weapon only? He prays to the Angels that he will not.

But the warlock’s eyes are sad now, and Alec fears it will happen, and soon.

“You do not hate me yet?” the warlock asks.

“Why would I? You are beautiful," the boy replies, simply. His childlike innocence liberate him. He has no worries and reservations in holding back the truth.

He doesn’t notice the warlock’s tender expression as he walks out the door.

The boy sighs, wandering back through the palace and waiting for the moment where his personal guards find him once more. He is surprised to have had this long on his own. As always, he slipped away with the help of Isabelle, his younger sister, and was granted a few minutes of peace.

He is the heir to the kingdom. To Idris. Surely there is something in that.

All the boy thinks about now, as he walks the long hallways and quiet courtyards, is how lonely the warlock must feel.

From what he has read, warlocks and other downworlders such as faeries and werewolves, are solitary. They prefer to keep away from society.

His tutelage has reinforced this, time and time again, and yet, Alec questions this now. The warlock in the library had seemed friendly, eager for conversation. Why was he taught otherwise?

“Your Highness!”

Half a dozen footsteps rush towards him as his personal guards approach and form a barrier around him, cutting him off from freedom.

They do not speak. They simply follow everywhere the prince goes, watching and guarding and silencing any reckless decisions he attempts. Even when he escapes for a moment, they soon catch up. He imagines his parents then and winces. He is sure they will have a lovely lecture planned out at dinnertime.

“Hey, big brother.”

A welcoming voice enters the hallway.

Alec looks up and an easy smile appears as his sister flounces down the corridor towards him. When she reaches him, she glares at a guard until they let her inside the prince’s circle.

The only space he has, and Alec will gladly share it with Isabelle. And his younger brother, Max, wherever the charming younger Lightwood prince was at. When his siblings are there, the circle no longer feels like a prison, but a small space of theirs. A private home.

“Did you see the warlock?” she whispers excitedly. Her bright eyes are wide.

He nods. “I did," he carefully replies. 

Isabelle notices. “Did you…meet him? What was he like? Oh, you must tell me-“

He digs his elbow into her side, silencing her. “Shh!” Alec warns, eyes flicking up to the guards.

When her expression falls, he digs at her side again, playful this time. “Later," he promises.

Isabelle smiles.

“He was…different," is all Alec says.

They walk to dinner together, quietly.

Alec feels strange.

Ever since the warlock’s appearance, he feels unsteady; unsure of the things he has been taught and convinced of.

The kingdom will one day look to him for solutions and guidance. How can he lead if he is constructed of lies and misdirection?

He must find his own path.

His own way of leading.

_My own destiny._

~

_Present_

“Lords and ladies, will everyone please be silent?”

The announcement boomed over the Great Hall, echoing off the tapestry-clad walls as silence fell.

As the gatherers waited, the herald made his way onto the raised platform – where four empty, lavish chairs stood. He stopped in the middle and addressed the crowd – lords and ladies and anyone who had earned their keep working in the castle. Servants came to a careful stop, balancing trays of wine-filled goblets.

The announcer looked smugly at the hushed crowd.

He swept into a low bow and gestured to the double doors at the back of the hall. “Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander of Idris, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Isabelle of Idris.”

The double doors swung open.

Gentle harp music floated into the room alongside the two figures. As the noblemen and noblewomen bowed to the Lightwood prince and princess, Alec and Isabelle exchanged a quick look.

She smiled, relaxed.

He grimaced, less so.

The princess wore her chosen dress proudly.

It was a subtle insult to her parents, who looked on her passions for sword-fighting and combat with disdain. The rich red of the soft material flowed out into a long, elegant skirt, with a low-cut silver bodice and silver patterns stitched into the fabric.

Of this part, the Lightwoods approved.

But the leather gauntlets? Less so.

The gloves were a bold black against the softness of the dress; a contradiction of danger and gentleness. It was an excellent portrait of Isabelle’s soul. She often wore gauntlets, or chainmail shoulder blades or riding boots, to formal banquets. The shocked expressions were worth the tongue-lashing she would receive later.

It was worth it when she wore riding boots to court and Queen Maryse would lose concentration and gape at her daughter.

Isabelle glanced at her brother, who was obediently ordained in a formal, black tunic and black trousers, with a thin golden band around the collar. Its colour was identical to the small crown perching on his tousled tresses, and the golden buttons reaching from collar to navel. Alec’s rich, black velvet cloak was elegant and highlighted his broad shoulders wonderfully.

The crown on her head was just as delicate, but Isabelle felt its weight like a curse. She was certain her brother felt the same.

Isabelle squeezed his arm and they quickly proceeded up the rich, red carpet that led them up onto the raised platform. Servants hurriedly pulled out their respective chairs and stepped back just as quickly.

“And now, announcing His Majesty, King Robert of Idris, and Her Majesty, Queen Maryse of Idris. All arise!”

Everyone stood once more and bowed as the King and Queen of Idris entered the Great Hall. They matched; an elegant, deep blue tunic for the King, and an ocean-blue gown for the Queen. Their embroideries were gold, like their children, and they both wore cloaks of blue, with white-trimmed, woollen fur swept over their shoulders and pinned with a large, golden medallion.

They glided into the hall, powerful and bold as they joined Alec and Isabelle at the raised table.

“You may all be seated.”

The disappointed look her mother gave Isabelle tugged a hidden smile onto her lips. She had glanced down at her gloved arms and her eyes had widened a little. But it was enough. Isabelle was ready for whatever came of it.

When the first performers begun to enter - a group of dancers with lutes and harps – Maryse turned to her daughter and coolly said, “I expected better of you, Isabelle. Your duties as a woman do not include parading about in… _that_.”

Isabelle knew exactly what her duties were. In her mother’s mind, they were simple; marry a Lord, have children to continue the Lightwood bloodline and grace the court each and every day with a smile to support her brother when he was King.

In Isabelle’s mind, she challenged this proposal.

She wanted an adventure. She wanted dashing rescues and sword fights that left her breathless with hungered glory. She wanted to slay a dragon – if there were any even left in the land – and marry for love.

Her fist clenched inside her leather-bound arm. Its leather dug into her skin, pinching in a satisfying way. She wanted this. The danger. Her heart was full of suppressed courage, waiting to be thrown into the swing of a sword, or the heat of a kiss.

“Forgive me.” She bowed her head. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, mother.” The lie slipped into the air easily.

Queen Maryse did not respond. She simply pressed her lips together and sighed, turning to face her subjects as they watched the dancers move and jump high and low across the space.

The music was gentle and joyful, and soon, Isabelle felt her heart lighten. As they finished their course of soft breads and meat pies, Isabelle leaned back in her chair and glanced across at her brother, who had been silently picking at his own plate. He stabbed glumly at a piece of fish.

“Cheer up, big brother.” She grinned. “This is a celebration, not a hunt.”

“Says the one adorned in black training gear.”

She innocently widened her eyes. “Gauntlets are not acceptable at the banquet table?” She covered her mouth in mock shame. “I do not deserve my title," she said dryly. "Banish me, brother. Oh, banish me!”

Finally, Alec smiled. He shook his head and chuckled, once but happily. “My dear sister, I could never banish you. Who else would help me escape the guards?”

“And steal books from the libraries?”

Alec gave her a look of warning. “Careful," he said, quietly.

She flushed, feeling guilty now.

She had always helped her brother retrieve books from the forbidden sections – the ones on downworlders and the history of Idris before their parents’ reign. They had stolen – no, _borrowed_ , Izzy corrected herself – so many times that she forgot it was dangerous. For Alec.

If their parents discovered his self-taught language of the Fae tongue, or his knowledge of warlocks and their affinities for different magic, Alec would be likely shamed. Or worse, dismissed as a prince.

Ever since the Accords were made over fifteen years ago, and the Lightwoods took the throne, knowledge was a dangerous thing. It was a weapon to be concealed. Many libraries were closed and only those loyal to the new Crown remained opened. Now, the palace libraries contained nearly all the books in Idris; from spell books, to cookery books, to tales of heroes and warriors.

Izzy had often found scholars, servants and even the rare warlock, roaming the libraries; always stalked and watched over by a palace guard.

Valentine had proven just how dangerous knowledge was.

All Isabelle knew of the exiled – and now dead – Lord Valentine, was from her childhood memories.

He had turned against her parents and attempted to steal the throne for himself, leaving a bloodbath in his wake.

He had used a dark spell book to grant his fellow traitors inhuman strength and agility. Though the Lightwoods called upon the warlocks – more like forcefully demanded – for help, victory was won with many losses.

She had not been in the castle the day of the battle.

She and Alec had been taken out for horse-riding lessons, while their younger brother, Maxwell was attending a lesson with his personal scholar.

While Alec and Isabelle had laughed and sung through the trees as they rode, their brother was brutally cut down by Valentine.

They had left that day children, and came back as soldiers; haunted by a war they had missed.

Lord Valentine was apprehended and thrown into the dungeons.

He was exiled to the Shadowlands; the large stretch of forest that housed downworlders and spirits and horrors alike.

The forest covered half of the land and was a place of magic and possibility, but also nightmares. Isabelle had been taught to fear its power, and the creatures that inhabited it, but she looked at it with awe. So many stories waited to be told. The forest pulsed; alive and beautiful.

Isabelle had never been inside, but had ridden as far as her guards would allow her and stared into its depths. It whistled and hummed and cried back to the princess; calling out with a promise of something more.

Since Valentine’s exile – and assumable death, as no one had ever seen the madman again – books were burned or stashed away or collected. Warlocks were registered and recorded and a new Law was placed.

No longer could warlocks live in groups of more than four.

The King and Queen, and citizens, feared that their unified power could prove fatal to mortals. They feared their powers so much that they overlooked the beauty in their gifts.

Magic was so rarely performed, and Isabelle was saddened that beauty and hope had been crushed alongside the fear.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention once more? His Majesty, King Robert, would like to say a few words.”

Isabelle’s thoughts snapped to the present. Her father stood in a smooth motion and nodded his thanks. “My subjects, we are gathered here this evening to celebrate the anniversary of the Accords.”

Cheers and clapping erupt and Maryse smiles.

“Since our peaceful negotiations, violence and war no longer rule the land. Our time is one of prosperity.”

 _If you have wealth_ , Isabelle thought dryly.

She had often secretly escaped into the night to deliver leather pouches filled with coins to local villages. It turned from vain money for jewellery into food and water for her people. If her parents caught her, she would likely face a similar punishment to Alec’s hidden adventures, but she no longer cared. The people were suffering and she would do her part.

Damn royalty and its privileges to hell.

Her father continued after the applause died down. “Magic no longer threatens Idris. We, mere mortals, have proven to be the Angel’s chosen rulers. We have maintained peace between ourselves and the downworlders for over fifteen years now, and tonight; I toast to this. To freedom!”

“To freedom!” the crowd sung back.

Stomping their feet and cheering, Isabelle watched as they toasted to a King who would rather have magic banned than shared.

Who would rather downworlders live lonely and hunted than accepted.

Beside her, Alec grimaced; also lost in thought.

What kind of peace created outcasts?

Valentine had destroyed many lives, and he was grateful to his parents for their roles in stopping a dangerous man – the man who had slaughtered his brother. But Alec was also frightened by their hatred. By the people’s hatred. People who would one day be his to lead and care for. Even the Shadowlands were still unexplored entirely out of fear for the unknown magic.

Perhaps he could one day venture-

“I also have another announcement to make.”

Alec hid his flinch. He forced his chin up and stared straight ahead; not wanting to look at his father. He knew what was coming.

“Soon, my son, and heir, Alexander, shall be given his quest.”

Nervous excitement danced across the room. People whispered and speculated in front of the prince without shame.

Alec continued to stare ahead.

“He will uphold the Lightwood name and bring glory home. I know my son will succeed. He is a powerful warrior and will one day make a worthy King.”

The ‘one day’ repeated over and over in Alec’s mind.

Of course he was not ready yet. Everyone knew that.

But his father had hesitated, as though the idea of giving up the throne was painful.

There were layers to Robert’s support, he realised. On the surface, he was confident and radiated pride. Deeper, he was anxious and stubborn in his ideals. He was well aware that Alec was somewhat different and likely feared it.

Alec had done his best to suppress his desires – both personal and political – but feared he was transparent to the King.

The quest had been on his mind for the best part of the summer, fall, and winter. It was late spring now and the prince was burning with anticipation. Every male heir would be given a quest to complete. Their victory proved them a worthy heir, or their failure proved them otherwise.

He glanced at Isabelle.

In her sharp beauty and thirst for adventure, his sister was more ready for a quest than he was. He imagined her riding a steed into battle, leading an army with passionate speeches and blood-red lips. Isabelle would be a force on the battlefield.

He had trained alongside her, much to their parents’ reluctance, and saw her as an equal. He even considered her a part of his Knights. Not the Royal Guard, but Alec’s own Knights; a select group loyal to Alec first and foremost. They were his friends and family and confidants.

He glanced at them seated at the two long banquet tables, recognising them by their deep red cloaks and the flame emblems embroiled on their backs. Jace, his closest friend, dared to wink at him.

Alec resisted the urge to raise a certain finger in response.

He could only imagine how the court would approve of seeing their future King flip off a Knight.

Instead, he kept his gaze steady as he glanced across the lords and ladies. His father was still speaking about the Accords, and how no changelings had been discovered in the kingdom for many years.

“And so, go forth and be merry. Tonight, we celebrate!”

The crowd cheered again, standing as music began to play. It was jollier this time, and meant for large group dances. Pairs were made and dancers united as folkdances filled the Hall with joyful noise. Footsteps drowned out the sound of Alec’s nervous heartbeat.

He had caught the final look that Robert threw in his direction. It had been difficult to read; narrowed eyes, a small smile that did not mean what it claimed.

He was as afraid for the quest as Alec was, though not likely for the same reasons.

“Would you care to dance, Your Highness?”

“Forgive me, I am not well versed in the art of dancing-“

He inclined his head and found Jace Wayland grinning at him. His friend bowed low and raised an eyebrow. “I believe I was talking to the princess, but I’m hurt you wouldn’t dance with me, Alec.”

Alec hid an eye roll, but couldn’t hide his laugh. “In your dreams.”

He smirked at his friend as he led Isabelle off into the crowd of dancers, who parted and made room for the newcomers.

As they danced, Alec watched the evening unfold; waiting.

Always waiting.

Part of Alec longed to give himself fully to his duties. To follow in his father’s footsteps and maintain the peace. But he was too aware of the violence in his parents’ histories. Though the idea of being a ruler frightened him, Alec was waiting for the day where his power could shape a new world.

A world where mortals and downworlders alike could share a-

“Be ready.”

Alec flinched at the sudden voice. He turned in his seat and found Robert staring at him with an intense look.

His father’s voice was quiet but steady as he announced, “Your quest will be announced tomorrow, my son.”

Alec panicked.

He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his legs and arms, and even in his stomach; pulsing blood around his body with nervous energy. He was silent for a moment and Robert turned away once more, back to the celebrations with a proud grin. As though he hadn’t just announced a life-changing event to his son.

It was always up to the King to announce the chosen quest.

To slay a dragon, or rescue a maiden, or reclaim a treasure, Alec had considered all the options his parents could throw at him.

If his luck was good, they would select something that they wanted him to prove. To show he was a fit leader. A future King of Idris would be expected to understand war, his people and loyalty.

A flash of worry appeared in Alec’s mind then.

What if the king and queen wanted him to disband downworlders?

To apprehend magical creatures and imprison them?

He had seen the apparent justice given to those who broke the Accords – warlocks who lived in unlawful groups, fairies who tried to woe humans.

There were prisons located throughout the lands made especially for downworlders; iron cages for fairies, spell-casted cages for werewolves which made sure they could no longer change. He had read that the agony was unbearable; for a werewolf to have a part of themselves denied on the full moon. But even werewolves who ventured outside the Shadowlands risked mortal fear. They risked being hunted and then imprisoned for self-defence.

Could Alec complete such a quest? Just to prove himself heir to a corrupt throne?

He shook that thought away. His parents were firm rulers; not unjust. Their reign had kept peace since Valentine’s bloody battle and there had been no disputes between mortals and downworlders.

_Yes, because they’re too scared to leave the Shadowlands…_

He stood abruptly and turned to the king and queen. He bowed stiffy. “Please excuse me. I will retire early, if it of no inconvenience?”

Maryse narrowed her eyes but nodded in dismissal. His father simply waved a hand and turned back to a servant, reaching for yet another wine-filled goblet.

Alec left behind the excitement of the banquet and headed into the quiet shadows of the long corridors.

He smiled at Isabelle, who was now dancing with one of the library bookkeepers, a devoted scholar named Simon. He watched as Raphael, another one of Alec’s knights, watched the pair with an intensity that surprised Alec. He didn’t often see such strong emotion in the man’s eyes.

_Perhaps he’s watching over Isabelle for me._

Alec frowned as a flash of pain crossed over Raphael's face, but soon dismissed the thoughts.

As soon as he left the hall behind, he relaxed. Although there were already two guards following him from behind, the prince welcomed the quiet. Alec walked to his room, taking the longer way around to savour the time he had alone.

What would his quest be?

And would his loyalties be tested along the way?

~ ~ ~

_Later that night_

King Robert of Idris tugged his hood carefully around his face.

It was in the early hours of the morning, and darkness covered the castle like a smothering blanket. Checking again for guards, he hid behind another pillar and peered around the corner. He blinked. Only a few torches lit up the large room and its high wooden ceiling beams made him feel watched from above.

Robert headed around the corner, moving swiftly in the shadows of the library until he came to a small alcove that contained a handful of chairs and a small, oak table. There, he finally lowered his hood and faced two figures.

“I have what you asked for, Your Majesty.”

“My deepest gratitude.” Robert inclined his head in respect and held out his arms.

One of the figures - a guard - placed the large book into the king's palms and straightened, bowed, and rushed out of the room.

The other figure – still cloaked – remained.

Robert placed the book down on the table and grimaced, glancing up at his companion. “Well, well, shall we see what our son has been taking from beneath our noses?”

At that, the queen angrily threw back her hood, stepping a little closer.

Even in the low-lit room, Robert felt her gaze cut through the room like the sharp of a sword’s point. She lowered her eyes to the book – the book that had been found in their firstborn’s room – and unbuckled its leather case.

The stitched title read:  _The Shadowlands: A Guide to the Downworlder Dwellers of the Forest._

“Ignorant child,” Maryse hissed. “Does he not know the dangers of the Shadowlands?”

She slammed the book with the heel of her hand.

Robert winced at the sound as it echoed off the walls of the library, taking a careful step towards his wife. He could feel her anger burning all around.

“My love-“

Maryse held up a hand to silence him. “We must stop this, Robert. We must make him see the dangers before it is too late. I will not have him destroy everything we have worked hard to achieve. Son or not, Alec will be taught that his loyalties should be to his people. To his own _species.”_

Her shoulders straightened as she lifted her hood again. The sharp angles of her cheekbones and jaw were striking lines in the dark.

Robert mirrored the queen’s movement, lifting his hood. “What must we do?”

“If Alec will not learn, we must send him where his beloved books beckon. Perhaps there he will finally understand. If he can see the dangers himself.”

Robert’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean, surely…”

Maryse nodded. “Alec must go to the Shadowlands.”

Their meeting finished, they disappeared back into the secluded darkness of the castle.

~ 

The morning after the banquet, Alec met with his knights in the throne room.

He had awoken painfully early, his nerves alight with restless energy.

Today would be of grave importance. His quest would decide his fate and the type of king he would grow to become.

“Big brother, do stop pacing. You are quite ruining the mood.”

Alec glared at Isabelle, who was carelessly lounging on her mother’s throne.

“I’m glad one of us is feeling content, Izzy," he muttered.

She looked like a queen already in her deep green and gold velvet dress; adorned with a gemstone necklace and rings.

If anyone were to dare a closer look, they would notice that the golden bands around Izzy's arms were not in fact bracelets, but a coiled metal whip.

It had been a gift from one of Isabelle’s secret suitors; a fairy from the mysterious Seelie Court who had dared venture from the Shadowlands to offer his gift to his very pleased princess.

Fairies had ancient magic and spiritual gifts that allowed to craft such magnificent gifts. Isabelle’s whip was a dainty weapon that could easily be concealed as a bracelet or arm cuff; but Alec had seen it, and his sister, in action.

Away from the castle, and away from the watchful eye of guards and nobles, Isabelle had learned to treat her whip as an extension of her body. She could cut into rock and flesh alike.

If the situation ever arose for her to do so, Alec feared any attacker who dared challenge Isabelle to a fight.

She looked down at her fingernails, bored. “I am perfectly content. As should you be. Our parents will give you a quest to prove yourself a worthy king. It’s not a funeral announcement, Alec.”

Standing a few feet away, and leaning casually against the table, Jace nodded in agreement. “Though I hate to admit it, Isabelle is right. And whatever happens, you have us.”

The Lightwood emblem – a red and golden flame outline – shone back on Jace’s tunic, and for a rare moment, Alec felt proud to be a Lightwood.

Jace smiled and clapped an arm around Alec’s shoulder. “Whatever trouble you get into, Alec, you can bet by the Angel that we will be right beside you.”

Alec returned the gesture, nodding to his friend before turning to glance around at the others.

Around the table stood four men and three women who Alec would die defending.

His knights.

His _family_.

Not by blood, but by something stronger; by choice and friendship.

They were all dressed in the Lightwood colours – reds and golds – but they wore simple tunics and overcoats with light chainmail; not the heavily armed, fearsome armour that the Royal Guard wore. Alec’s knights were all selected for their hearts, not their ages or genders or time spent holding a sword.

He had trained alongside all of them from childhood, save for Helen and Aline.

He smiled at the two women standing side by side.

The pair had made themselves known in a nearby village after capturing a group of men who had terrorised Idris for an entire winter; stealing crops, slaughtering animals and spilling water supplies. They had wished for the people to turn against the crown, but Helen and Aline had apprehended the group with their self-taught traps and hand-to-hand combat. They were light on their feet, and lethal with their daggers and throwing axes.

He had invited them to train with his other knights and not long after they were a part of their strange, mismatched family of lords, ladies and villagers.

Of course, his parents had objected strongly to the women.

In fact, even Lady Lydia, who was well-liked and respected by his parents, was a disappointing choice to the king and queen.

“No women should wield a sword. Let alone throw one in a battle," his father had said coldly one day.

Alec had stood his ground. “My knights are loyal to me. I do not care if they were born a lord or thief, man or woman, they are worthy.”

It was the one defiance he had ever made to his parents.

So far.

He watched as Lydia sharpened her sword, the metallic ringing sound pleasant to his ears. Her expression was solemn, but her eyes were calm.

Lydia was as fierce a warrior as she was a sharp-tongued tutor. She was an intelligent woman, teaching the young daughters of lords and ladies who lived in the castle, and Alec wondered – not for the first time that day – if she was another more worthy heir than he.

The other two three knights who made up Alec’s group were Lord Raphael, Lord James – or Jem to his close companions – and Lord William.

Lord Raphael was a short-tempered but loyal young man, and was the only knight who had been chosen by both Alec and his parents.

William and Jem were the sons of merchants, and they had saved Alec’s life when even his personal guards had not.

When they were younger, Isabelle and Alec had snuck out to explore one of the many colourful markets that travelled the land. They had raced around, enjoying the buzz of the merchants crying out and selling and trading food, cotton, furs and jewels.

Then, a few horses had been spooked at the sounds, and hurtled through the crowds.

Alec had been oblivious to the danger, and found himself thrown to the ground by a dark-haired boy.

His arms had sprawled out in the dirt road, but the boy soon picked him up and brushed careful hands over him.

A second boy, with silver, slightly wavy, hair, softly beckoned to the horses. To everyone’s surprise, including Alec and Isabelle’s, the creatures calmed down under the boy’s touch.

The silver-haired boy had walked over to the dark-haired.

Standing side by side, they were contrasts; one gentle and soft, the other all sharp grins and raised brows. But Alec felt certain they shared a brotherhood. They had saved his life, and as they walked him back to the castle that day, Alec found himself extending his friendship, and an offer to be at his side.

The dark-haired boy, William, had nodded enthusiastically.

Though the silver-haired boy, Jem, looked uncertain, Alec knew with certainty that he would follow the other to oblivion.

They were both excellent learners, quick and agile thanks to a lifetime of travelling from village to village with their merchant stalls.

Though William favoured the sword, Jem found a liking for fighting staffs as well as the longbow, much to Alec’s delight. Alec himself enjoyed the feel of an arrow-filled leather quiver slung over his shoulder. He was well taught to handle most weapons, but nothing could satisfy the prince like a bow and arrow.

Jem had also revealed his musical talents, and with his viol skills, he led the court musicians frequently. This had pleased his parents for at least one of Alec’s chosen knights had proven worthy.

Looking round the table, at his knights, Alec had never once questioned their loyalty.

They were all worthy friends and warriors, and he felt guilty that he had worried so greatly over the quest.

Standing beside his knights, Alec was certain they would succeed. He would succeed.

And then King Robert and Queen Maryse entered the throne room.

He quickly coughed to alert his sister.

Isabelle hastily descended from the throne, putting a respectable distance between herself and her mother’s seat.

She looked at Alec with gratitude and mouthed, ‘thank you’.

As Robert and Maryse settled onto their thrones, Alec walked over to the centre and kneeled before them. His heartbeat pounded loudly, but he kept his gaze low, in respect. Around the room, he could feel his knights mirror his stance and drop to their knees. Even Isabelle curtsied elegantly.

A few court members had come to stand witness to the announcement. There was Lord Hodge, King Robert’s advisor, and a handful of other lords and ladies loyal to his parents from before their reign. They all stood to the sides, watching and waiting like everyone else.

Time seemed to stand still as Robert stood. The swishing of his cloak was the only sound. Alec lifted his chin and forced his expression to remain level as he waited.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, Crown Prince of Idris, do you welcome the name of the quest that will shortly be given to you?”

Alec nodded once. His fist clenched around the pummel of his sword, gripping it painfully tight.

The moment was here.

“Very well.” Robert paused. His expression was too neutral; too practised for Alec’s liking.

His father was a man of pride, and his final words were said with a pleased glint in his eyes. “You will be undertaking the Quest for the Mortal Cup.”

Even Raphael gasped. 

Alec’s sword fell to the floor.

In shock, his hand had flexed; the weapon clattering loudly onto the stone floor. His feet suddenly felt lodged into the floor. It was like he had been rooted into the spot as he felt his eyes widen and his mouth gape in horror. What kind of quest was this?

It was a quest of fairy tales. Nonsensical and impossible.

His parents had deceived him.

A thousand thoughts rushed into Alec’s mind. He processed them carefully, one at a time, as he kneeled and regained his composure.

He had caught Maryse’s small smile and considered one possibility.

Did they want him to refuse the quest?

Asking him to retrieve an object that had not been seen in so long that it was now considered a myth was absurd.

But it was also clever, Alec realised.

He realised then, with another stab of horror, that they knew. His parents _knew_. 

They had somehow found out about his secret studying of the downworlders and the knowledge they fought to suppress. They knew he hungered to learn about the Shadowlands.

They wanted him to choose.

Between a quest that would lead him to danger – but also adventure and answers - and loyalty to his parents.

He was supposed to refuse. To spit words of hatred about the downworlders and redeem himself in their eyes. Recovering the Mortal Cup would take him through the Shadowlands; through the homes of warlocks, fairies, werewolves and unknown creatures too.

_This is a test before the quest has even begun._

Alec closed his eyes and ignored the heated stares of his knights as they bored into his back. He could feel them, on-edge behind their prince. He silently prayed they would remain silent and let him think up a solution.

The Mortal Cup was said to be a magical cup given by the Angel at the start of time itself.

Its power was known to neither mortal, warlock, beast nor human. All that was known was this. That it was said to be on the Island of Alicante.

_Which is on the other side of the land._

The quest’s journey would last a long time. If he accepted it.

Alec sighed.

Legend said that the Cup contained a power that could give or take life.

One folktale whispered that it could bleed life from one being and flow it into another. Another; that the Cup could summon demons.

_Again; impossible. Surely._

He knew what he was supposed to do then. He ought to look up, look apologetic, and refuse the quest. To submit. To bow his head and pretend to be afraid of the downworlders and the unknown Shadowlands.

His parents had set him an impossible quest to challenge his loyalty.

Alec felt his heartbeat begin to settle back into a normal pace.

He thought of the one warlock he had met, many years ago as a child. He had not been worthy of such hate, he was certain.

Alec thought of the fairies who Isabelle had spent time with, secretly. He thought of his Knights, the strength they had when they were united; all from different places and different stations.

His parents had underestimated Alec’s loyalty to his people.

For the first time, Alec realised that if he was supposed to be a leader, he had to start leading himself first.

If his parents wanted the Mortal Cup, they were going to damn well get it.

And he was going to journey through the Shadowlands and prove that downworlders were not to be feared.

 _What if you are wrong?_ A small part of Alec protested. _What if downworlders are evil? What if you step into the Shadowlands and are slaughtered before you have time to apologise? Then Idris will be left without an heir. What good will it do you to die?_

“Son, you seem troubled.” Robert’s stern voice cut through his thoughts. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, unable to hide his pleasure at seeing his son at war with himself. “Do you wish to refuse the quest? I am certain another can be presented to you-“

“No.”

A few gasps broke through the silence again.

Alec was certain one had come from Isabelle, and he risked a look in her direction.

Isabelle’s eyes widened with fear, but Alec noticed how her hand was sub-consciously brushing over her whip; as though she were already preparing for war.

He drew strength from her action and forced himself to stand. He felt his legs stretch as he picked his sword up and placed it firmly in its jewelled scabbard.

“If you believe this quest is right for me, then who am I to disobey?”

He kept his voice cool. All he wanted to do was run from the hall and catch up with the events unfolding, but instead, Alec placed his fist over his heart and bowed slightly.

When he spoke, he spoke loudly. “I accept the quest.”

Nervous whispers and scattered applause broke out then.

A few Lords cheered, but the sound was mocking rather than supportive.

Another Lady looked green with horror, and Alec was certain she might pass out at any moment.

He heard the swishing of cloaks as his knights flocked around him. Some of their expressions were eager; others fearful, but they all shared one look in common; support. They all circled him like it was the most natural thing to do. Like he hadn’t just potentially thrown away their lives in a stubborn attempt to prove his parents wrong about downworlders.

He prayed to the Angel that this was the right path. For his people, and for everyone who inhabited this strange and magical land.

He cleared his throat. “I will be choosing my own knights for this expedition. The quest is mine, and I request permission to choose my companions as I choose fit.”

He chose his words carefully. “This quest will require a direct venture into the Shadowlands, which may create tension with the Accords. Therefore, would it not be wise to request the help of a downworlder on this quest?”

Maryse’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Why would a prince require help from a lesser being?”

Her expression was one of such cold fury that Alec felt his knees threaten to give way. The pressure was mounting and yet, he had to get through this. To stand strong. He felt the courage of his knights – his friends – and latched onto their love. Their support.

“Alas, I will be facing many of these ‘lesser beings’ in the Shadowlands. Would it not be wise to have someone who is knowledgeable of such creatures? Of such magic? Surely I would not be expected to have such knowledge," he added innocently.

He was steps away from crossing a line, but his parents had started this absurd test; he would be the only to finish it. If they wanted Alec to play the ignorant prince, he was more than willing. If it meant he had another helping hand in retrieving the Cup, it was worth risking his mother’s fury.

Eventually, Robert gave an abrupt nod. “Very well.” His features smoothed, but there was an underlining uncertainty on his face that reminded Alec of the path he had so blatantly ignored.

They were at a crossroad, of which only one of them would stand victorious.

If his parents wanted him to fear the downworlders, they would risk his death. And Alec would risk his life to prove them wrong.

Either way, he was quest-bound.

As his parents left the room with the court, Alec released a shaky breath. He had steeled his nerves throughout the announcement. Now that it was over, he felt anxiety creep its way into his bones and blood-

And then someone's fist hit into his chest. Hard.

“What in the Angel’s name possessed you to agree to such a quest?!”

Isabelle’s face was a furious storm, and Alec was without shelter.

She gestured wildly with her hands. “Well? Are you? Possessed? Or do you simply wish to die?”

He muttered out a curse, wincing as he rubbed the point of impact. “Come on, Iz," he protested weakly. “You love impossible adventures.”

He really thought she was going to hit him again. Properly this time.

He quickly took a step back.

Isabelle growled, and the sound was a low warning. “How can you be king if you are deceased?”

By then, the rest of the knights had gathered around the table again.

Jace piped up, “He could rule as a spirit. That'd be fun." 

Half a dozen eyes glared at him in response.

Alec sighed. How could he explain without sounding madder than Valentine?

He had just accepted to retrieve a legendary object and trek through the dark and dangerous and magical parts of the kingdom, unknown to all of them.

Well. Not entirely unknown.

“The Shadowlands are hidden, but we're not entirely unarmed," he began, slowly. He made sure to keep his voice steady as he spoke to his companions.

Isabelle folded her arms across her chest, but she remained quiet and listened.

“The Cup is a legend, yes, but it is such a well-known object. Surely there is truth in that. I believe there is truth in stories and tales. Why else would we dream? If not to challenge what we see in the world around us?”

He paused. He had to have their support in this. His voice quietened as he looked pleadingly at his friends. “My quest is to find the Mortal Cup. Whatever is on that island, must have some value. Whatever it is, we will retrieve it and complete this quest.”

“That sounds like a glory-filled quest, Alec,” Jace began. “But the Shadowlands are vast and dangerous. We have no idea what could be waiting for us inside.”

By his side, Lydia nodded. They were always by each other's sides, Alec realised. 

He quickly refocused his attention. “Hence the warlock. He will be our guide.”

Alec kept quiet about his own knowledge. He could reveal that when it was necessary, not in a castle likely filled with spies and watchful eyes. 

“He?”

Alec looked across at Isabelle. “Hm?”

His sister looked less angry now but her hands were on her hips. “Who, Alec?” she demanded.

Every figure around the table waited for his reply.

“The only warlock I have ever met. The Warlock of Ash Tower.”

The name left his lips like a prayer; a silent beacon of hope waiting to be claimed. “Magnus Bane.”

~ ~ ~

In the fifth room of the fifth floor of Ash Tower, the warlock awoke.

Outside, the swirling mist of a new morning swept high into the clouds. It swept up past the vined tower and reached even the phoenix perched on top.

The firebird stretched out its long wings just as the warlock stretched out his arms, bathing in the sunlight coming in through the open spaces.

Magnus Bane climbed out of bed and stood, leaning out of the tower and observing. As he always did each morning; hoping for something to catch his eye.

 _An adventure might be nice,_ he thought.

He imagined the damage it might cause to his sparkling robes and quickly decided against an adventure.

A few feet above his head, the phoenix was savouring its last few moments of life. It chirped once before bursting into flames; glorious reds and oranges and yellows. It was light and darkness; life and death.

Magnus heard the bird’s last cry and smiled, for he knew what would happen next.

After a few minutes, a new life arose from the ashes. The bird was reborn in a cloud of dust and ash and sunlight, blinking its new baby eyes at the bright light.

Magnus Bane looked out across the land.

With the new bird beginning its new song, he couldn’t help but feel a change in the air.

Seconds later, and the ash that had given the castle its name had begun to fall down from the bird’s perch. It shook of its previous life and timidly elongated its soft wings.

The bird was reborn. New life was here.

Magnus watched out of the window and waited.

Something was coming.

 _Or someone,_ he thought.

~ ~ ~

Queen Maryse slammed the door to her chambers shut.

Her face was livid with anger as she growled, “Foolish, _foolish_ child.”

She turned to King Robert. "Does he really believe in this Cup? It is a legend. We all know this, surely. I had hoped he would remain loyal to us, to the Lightwood family, but it is clear that Alec is…estranged.”

Robert sighed. “We can only hope that the warlock will offer some protection. Until our son and his ignorant knights return home.”

For a moment, Maryse glared out into the castle grounds; the low window open wide. She gripped the ledge tightly in anger. “Then we must wait. For Alec to return from the Shadowlands. Only then will he realise the dangers of such creatures.”

Robert hesitated. He knew how headstrong his queen was. He had witnessed her anger and her fury first hand. While Alec was his only son left alive, Robert reluctantly agreed with Maryse’s conclusion.

“Very well. Now we wait.”

~ ~ ~

In a tower, far away from mortals or downworlders, another figure in a tower was sleeping.

Buried in the depths of the Shadowlands, the figure lay in a deep slumber on a bed of velvet; her fiery red hair threaded with flowers and ribbons.

Sounds fill her ears – creatures stirring, fairies giggling and dancing about, wolves howling their morning greetings.

 _The Shadowlands are very much alive today,_ she thinks; a little sadly, a little happily. 

The sleeping girl hears everything.

From the new dark whispers of evil, to the innocence of new love blossoming between two fairies.

As with each morning that passes, the prophecy once again fills her ears.

It is louder than any wicked cry that has ever entered the Shadowlands.

And it speaks to only her;

_On one day of the phoenix’s rebirth, a quest will begin;_

_A tale of magic and knights and princesses unite._

_A broken prince will reshape a kingdom in his journey;_

_A tale of bridges, towers, lakes; a shadowed fight._

_Upon the day where the sun rises in its highest peak;_

_The final battle will sacrifice a life and reclaim a light._

_The Cup is found; a king is born._

_The Sword is found; a vow is sworn._

The figure wonders if she is a part of this. Is she the princess?

Perhaps she is simply an abstract thought, created by the strange magic of the Shadowlands.

But she feels the Shadowlands stirring. All around her, creatures awaken and cry and sing with joy.

 _Can you feel it too?_ She sings out with her mind. _Something is coming._

Reaching out for the single connection she has relied upon for years, the sleeping girl focuses on that strange colourful thread in her mind.

It feels like a tapestry thread; tugging and teasing in her thoughts.

Day after day, the thread beckons, but the girl cannot ever fully grasp it with her mind. She catches moments of conversation and a flash of dark waves and dazzling silver metal, but the images are not complete. They are fragmented; like shards of a mirror that do not make sense until the final image is united.

 _Help me._ She whispers, to anyone who might be listening. _Come and find me._

As always, the Shadowlands ignore her pleas.

They hover and dip and dance around her prison, but never step inside.

 _Soon_. She thinks _. Soon…_

~ ~ ~

Magic in the Shadowlands is a strange beauty.

It contains the fiery passions of playful fairies, and the cool-tempered magic of ancient warlocks.

There is new life and death. Quiet caves, abandoned settlements. Crowded tree homes, petty fighting. It is a world of its own.

Warlocks and fairies and werewolves and other creatures live in delicate harmony.

Until now.

Slowly, and creeping into the forest’s bloodstream, something has shifted.

There is a darkness tempting the hearts of many; good and evil alike.

It swirls around the smoking bonfires of Seelie moon cycle celebrations. It swirls around the Dark Tower, and the sleeping figure who lies inside.

The source of the darkness comes from across the land. Not in the direction of mortals, and their hatred and their swords, but in the opposite direction.

From an island, the darkness comes. From the island, a man waits.

A quest has begun.

The war has started.


	2. The Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's interest in this fic!  
> It started off with a conversation with the lovely, Jackie (m-aleciseverything) and I said 'omg how about a Knights of the Round Table AU?' and she stupidly encouraged me. Thanks for that.  
> Happy reading!

“Are you certain?”

“For the tenth time this morning, yes.” Alec sighed in frustration. “We _need_ a warlock. We can’t rely on our limited knowledge of the Shadowlands. It's filled with magic that we cannot ever hope to understand.”

“And we’re going to stomp right through it,” Jace muttered. “Fantastic.”

Running a hand across his forehead, Alec turned away from his friend. He glanced back down at the map he had begun to sketch together; pulled from different books and old sketches of Idris.

The land itself stretched out over crinkled material; revealing the unknown island in the far East, and the Lightwood Castle in the opposite direction, settled in the North-West.

The large stretch of forests that made up the Shadowlands cut across the centre of Idris, separating the mortal dwellers from folk of magic and mystery.

There was no way around the Shadowlands, except by boat.

Sailing around the entire kingdom of Idris would take too long, and so Alec had quickly discarded that idea. Although he was fearful of venturing into the unknown parts of the land, he reminded himself that part of this quest was to help separate some of the strange separations between mortals and downworlders.

It was hardly fair of him to expect change and not partake in any himself.

Alec only hoped that Magnus Bane was as friendly as he remembered.

The warlock from his childhood had left an impression on Alec; one of mesmerised curiosity. He remembered him as powerful, but also gentle and fascinating in his movements and gestures. He hoped his instincts wouldn't prove him wrong. 

“So, who else are we waiting for?” Jace asked, tugging the prince’s thoughts back to the present.

Around the table of the throne room, most of his knights had assembled to finalise their quest.

Will and Jem stood next to Helen and Aline, with Raphael beside him, and Lydia next to him and Jace.

Alec had quickly decided that this was a quest for only a few; small in numbers but great in strength. Rushing through the Shadowlands with an army would only threaten the peace. 

Choosing Jace was an obvious decision, and one that Alec didn’t need to think about twice. He had inclined his head, waiting for Jace to protest or refuse to follow Alec into unknown darkness, but his friend had simply grinned and replied, “Just you try and stop me.”

“Um, Your Highness, I think we found something that could help.”

Alec turned around as Simon, the bookkeeper who was close friends with his sister, walked in beside his companion. She was a dark-haired, stern but smiling young woman; whose smile widened when she glanced towards Jem and Will.

“Come in, Simon. And…Theresa, I believe?” He greeted the pair with a polite smile and waved them in.

Theresa curtsied a little clumsily. “Yes, Your Highness. I am a bookkeeper with Simon. Well, not _with_ Simon per se…”

An amused snort escaped from Will’s lips, and when Alec looked across at him, he found Jem smiling sweetly at the young woman. The two men watched Theresa with quiet interest, and Alec invited the bookkeepers to approach the table.

“Uh, here…we found…um, one moment, please.” Awkwardly balancing a few books in his arms, Simon stumbled out an apology. He dropped them onto the table with a loud clang and began hastily pulling out parchments and blowing the dust off of them.

“A map," he announced brightly, pushing one paper into the centre.

The knights all leaned in.

“Damnation,” Raphael cursed. “Still no description of the Shadowlands.”

“You mean besides ‘eerie forests with dangerous magic that remain unrecorded since the beginning of time’?” Jace asked. His grin was wide for someone who was heading into said scary forests.

"I-I'm really sorry," Simon mumbled. "I really thought we had something of use."

Raphael's expression softened when Simon flushed and looked away in embarrassment. 

Alec brushed a hand across the back of his neck.

He had hoped that there was something in the records. Anything to indicate the layout of the Shadowlands. His tutors had encouraged him to remain ignorant; declaring that it wasn’t a place for mortals and therefore unnecessary to explore.

It was the home of downworlders. If they didn’t cross over, what did it matter?

Alec was strongly beginning to question a great deal of his lessons.

Just then, the door creaked open again, and Isabelle glided in.

She approached the table confidently and took a place at the table beside Alec, resting her hands against the sides and lifting her chin in challenge.

Alec tore his eyes away from the map long enough to frown.

What was his sister wearing?

She seemed to be in hunting gear; dressed in a white shirt and a deep brown leather vest that covered her chest and neck entirely. A tight-fitted belt cinched her waist as well as held a few hand daggers and left room for more. It was buckled and studded, both practical and fashionable.

It was very appropriate if one was headed out on a _long_ journey…

“Absolutely not,” Alec said firmly.

Isabelle didn’t even flinch. “If you say no, I will follow you anyway," she fought back. "If you lock me up, I will escape, come and find you, and then beat your ass to the underworld and back.”

She folded her arms across her chest. Her ever-present coiled whip was locked onto her wrist.

He sighed and opened his mouth to snap at her again, but he watched as Izzy’s eyes softened.

“Alec, I _am_ coming," she said quietly. “I can't stay here and wait for you to come back. We have trained together, fought side by side since we were infants. We vowed to always have each other’s backs. Please don’t make me break that vow.”

Alec looked at his sister, taking in her fierce beauty and compassionate. He knew with silent resignation that Isabelle would be by his side on this quest whether he welcomed it or not. He recognised the steel in her eyes; the determination in her chin.

Throwing a quick glance at Jace – who nodded his agreement– Alec closed his eyes and exhaled. “Very well. I yield.”

Isabelle beamed. “Really? Oh, Alec, thank you!” She threw her arms around him and pulled Alec into a warm embrace.

He couldn’t help but return it, despite the worry that he had just sentenced his sister to an unknown fate in a dark, magical land.

But Izzy was Izzy and she would always be his brave, headstrong sister.

Whether or not he wanted to admit it, Alec was secretly pleased. Having Isabelle by his side was a guaranteed way of improving their odds at victory; at completing the impossible quest.

He looked around the table then and realised who else he needed.

He had Jace’s courage and skills with a sword. He had Isabelle’s sharp thinking and passion for adventure.

“Lydia, would you kindly offer your services?” Alec asked quietly. He kept his expression open and gentle, not wishing to force any of his knights into joining out of obligation.

But if anyone understood the way _his_ mind worked, it was Lydia.

He needed his friend’s trust and understanding to counter-act Jace and Isabelle’s wilder minds.

 _A balance of hearts and minds is needed,_ Alec thought.

Lydia swallowed. She was lost in thought for a moment and then glanced at Jace.

It was a brief look, but Alec lowered his gaze out of respect.

There was something hidden in Lydia’s expression and he didn’t want to bear witness to a secret affection.

Hearts confused Alec. Their sudden jumps and accelerations; their loud poundings and drumming. His was often quiet, but steady.

Part of him longed for the day where is own heart would leap at the sound of another’s voice, but Alec knew with sad certainty that he would never look at a woman and feel a flare of desire.

Even a great woman like Lydia could not tempt the prince. He had often stolen glances at Lydia, hoping for something to finally click into place, but to this day, Alec’s heart was a sea that refused to leave the shore. 

“It would be my honour, Alec,” Lydia finally agreed, bowing her head slightly. Her expression was filled with a respect that Alec hoped was justified.

“Thank you. Will, Jem and Raphael, I need the three of you to step into command while we are absent. Keep training the young ones, and-” he lowered his voice- “I need you to be my eyes and ears. Please send out a bird at least once a fortnight. Can I trust you to do this?”

Will folded his arms across his chest. “I’m offended you even have to ask.” The sharp grin he was so well known for now crossed his features. “We’ll make sure the servants don’t plan a rebellion, don’t you worry.” He bowed, a little mockingly, but Alec bit back his own smile.

Jem took, as usual, a kinder approach. He nodded, worry creasing the lines in his forehead. “You can rely on us, Alec.”

Raphael nodded once. His gaze met Alec’s for a moment, a flash of uncertainty suddenly crossing it.

“Be careful,” the knight said quietly, and Alec nodded in return.

He knew the quest would be dangerous.

Raphael’s warning was not the first, nor would it be the last, to cross the prince’s ears.

Surprisingly, his parents had remained silent this past week and kept away from the planning of the quest.

He glanced over at Helen and Aline, who had been unusually quiet.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

Aline’s lips twitched. She glanced up at the prince and shrugged. “Whatever our prince commands.”

Helen, who Alec had always seen as the calm to Aline’s wilder storm, looked back and forth between her partner and Alec. There was a battle raging within her. Alec could sense it from across the room.

On the one hand, Aline and Helen’s skills would be a great asset to the quest.

They were both quick-thinkers, open-minded and unafraid.

Growing up in the villages had taught them survival skills Alec could never begin to understand. His life was one of privilege, and though he was grateful for the full plate of food he had each night, there was part of Alec that was disappointed. He would never have a true bond to his own people. To them, he would be a prince. A prince who decided their fate without knowing them at all.

He wanted to be so much more. He wanted to be someone who could help others; protect the weak and cherish all life.

Studying Helen across the room, he fearfully wondered if she felt obligated to put herself forward for the quest. He knew the bond between her and Aline was strong, and Alec feared that if he separated the two, neither would be fully engaged with the quest.

“It is dangerous, I understand this," he said. “Your loyalty to me, and the Crown, will not be questioned if you refuse.”

Aline’s head tilted up suddenly. She quickly looked at Helen, who frowned, seeming to read the other girl’s thoughts.

Whatever they were silently communicating made them hesitate.

Aline broke the stare first, and turned back towards Alec. Her shoulders straightened and the expression she wore was fierce with determination.

“I only speak for myself, but I would like to come along," Aline said. "An adventure like this will be told of in tales one day.” Her eyes shone with mischievousness. “And to protect you, of course, Your Highness.”

Alec hid his smile and thanked her. He waited for Helen, who was now watching Aline with a thoughtful expression; one that the prince had no hopes of reading.

_Is there something I don’t know?_

“Very well.” Helen placed her sword in the scabbard. When she replied, her answer seemed to be directed more towards Aline than the prince. “I offer my sword and my services to protect you. For as long as I am able.”

And so Alec’s companions were chosen.

All except one.

The warlock.

“We leave tomorrow," he told his knights. “Prepare as you see fit.”

As he walked away, he brushed Isabelle’s arm.

She gently stopped him and looped her arm through his. They walked out together.

“Where are you going, big brother?” Isabelle called out as he rounded the corner that led, not to hid bed chambers, but to the castle grounds and beyond.

“I have to round up the last of our company.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, though not out of fear. “You’re going to Ash Tower, aren’t you?” she said excitedly. “To meet Magnus Bane?”

He swallowed, nodding.

Thoughts of the warlock filled Alec with his own excitement, but he buried it quickly. The warlock he had briefly met so many years ago might have changed considerably. He might hate his family and refuse to accompany the knights on their reckless quest.

Alec couldn’t even find the strength to disagree with whatever hatred the warlock might have for him. He knew that downworlders were considered lesser beings in comparison to mortals, but that didn’t make it right. Surely not.

His mind had clashed with this thought in particular for many years now, and Alec was still afraid to make a stand. A proper stand.

_Maybe one day. If I am king._

He winced at his own thoughts _. If._

 _If_ he survived.

 _If_ he brought back the Cup.

 _If_ his parents allowed him to take the throne.

The prince cleared his throat. He snapped back to the present and quickly pressed a kiss to Izzy’s forehead.

“I will be back tonight. I promise. Make sure to get a good night’s rest.” He smirked at his sister. “I won't wait for you tomorrow," he warned, but his voice was teasing rather than an actual threat.

As much as he wanted to tie Izzy up to ensure she was safe, he could not, and would not, stop Isabelle from living the life she wanted. If she wanted danger and adventure, who was he to stop her? His parents had frowned upon her for so many years.

Who was Alec to tear her down even further when he could so easily build Isabelle up instead?

As he took the steps two at a time, his thoughts turned back to the warlock of Ash Tower. What could he say to earn the warlock’s companionship? To have him accept a position as the knight’s guide?

Without Magnus Bane, they would venture into the Shadowlands as a group of mortals, unarmed not without blades, but without knowledge.

Though Alec had learned a few different downworlder languages, he was not ignorant enough to pretend he was an expert. He did not know the layout of the forests. Once inside, they would be blindly led by instinct.

They needed Magnus Bane.

Whispers told Alec to force the warlock to submit. His parents would.

But Alec was reminded of his knights, who he had chosen by loyalty and bravery and their own unique tributes. They all come together to form something bigger than themselves; parts that made up a whole.

 _I doubt Magnus will care for being the only downworlder in a group of mortals._ _Mortals who have hunted his kind and drove them into a dark part of the land._

But there was a small part of Alec that hoped Magnus would remember him; and view the memory with fondness rather than hatred. Surely his younger self had not said anything too awful in front of the warlock.

Still, the prince worried.

There were plenty of other warlocks who could be asked, or forced, to assist with the quest, but something in Alec’s blood told him that Magnus Bane was the right choice. The only choice, even.

Could it be destiny?

Alec pushed that word down, deep down, into a place where even he couldn’t remember it.

Fate was only a tool used for fear. To shape the minds of those weak enough to listen.

He would not, could not, believe in such a power.

Alec slipped on his riding gloves and rode out of the palace; towards Ash Tower; and towards Magnus Bane.

~ ~ ~

Gazing up at Ash Tower, Alec felt his entire existence shrink down to an insignificant flicker.

The tall tower loomed over him like a secret.

Though it was roughly only four or five stories high, it still stretched tall enough into the sky that Alec had to throw his head far back to see the spokes at the top. It was made of a greyish stone that shimmered slightly, and was turret-like in appearance.

The peculiar thing that struck Alec was how a tree had wrapped itself around the tower.

Its twisted branches twirled around and around the tower, and up close, Alec saw that purple flowers were covering the green leaves.

 _Surely the warlock could destroy the tree,_ he thought in bemusement.

It was such a strange choice of decoration, if it indeed was part of the downworlder’s own flourish.

As he tied his horse to the nearby post – almost as if the warlock knew he’d been expecting company – Alec swallowed and stared at the tower again.

He could feel the magic dancing around the walls. There was a shiver in the air that wasn’t coming from his own fear, but from inside. It was like another sense was being born; another higher plane of existence that he, as a mortal, could not truly feel or see.

To reach the door, Alec had to climb up the long, winding path that took him up the hill where Ash Tower stood. As he walked, he ran his hand along the low stone wall.

A tingle shot through his arm and he flinched back instantly.

Had that been magic? Was the warlock trying to send him a warning?

Wide-eyed, he paused, before continuing the long walk upwards; slower.

This time, he kept his hands by his side.

As he approached the front door, Alec watched as the tree seemed to move. It was like it was alive; breathing and slowly growing and twisting around the tower. The purple flowers pulsed with a glow, and his fingers twitched; longing to reach out and see if they tingled under his touch.

He had only passed the tower once before, a long time ago.

It was during a ride with Isabelle, and they had quickly ridden past it; urged on by the royal guard not to linger in places they were unwanted.

Alec didn’t feel unwanted as such, but he still felt the hairs on his arms standing up in fear. His breathes were laboured, and not entirely from the long climb.

He hated that he was uncertain.

He had hoped he was better than the prejudices he had been raised into.

But it looked like there was still much for him to overcome.

Alec reminded himself that he had a right to be afraid, and on guard. He had ridden out, alone and without telling anyone other than Isabelle, and was facing a warlock on his own.

 _A warlock who is bound to the Law,_ Alec reminded himself. _He is recorded officially. There is no need to be fearful._

There was another emotion whispering inside his mind, but he couldn’t quite place it. It was lost in-between his battle with fear and anger at his own thoughts.

With a shaking hand, Alec raised his hand to grasp the large, phoenix-shaped doorknocker-

“Who dares disturb the Great Warlock of Ash Tower?”

Alec cried out at the voice.

He flinched back so quickly that he almost stumbled down the top step; managing to fling himself forwards again before his heel caught the edge.

“Uh, a traveller?” he replied, hesitant to reveal his identity.

He recalled how he had done this before, when he was younger, and thought with somewhat amusement that not much had changed.

“What is your business?” the voice boomed.

Again, Alec couldn’t place where it was coming from. It seemed to bounce off the tower and circle the prince. He heard the voice in his ears, and he also felt the voice; felt the way it caressed him like an embrace.

It reached out, not with a physical being, but with sounds and sensations, and Alec closed his eyes to try and shut it out.

The voice was, admittedly, relaxing.

Despite its abrupt echo, it was musical; a lovely lilt to it that came with knowing how to deliver bad news and transform it into hope. Alec also felt the power behind it. Though it was teasing, the voice was still letting magic slip out in-between words, to make sure the prince was aware that this was not a fight he could win.

Not that Alec wanted to.

“Well, I’m waiting.”

He then realised the question he had been asked.

“Uh, I’m here to talk to the warlock, Magnus Bane. Please inform him that I have a…proposition for him, and him alone.”

“A proposition, you say? My, my, how… _delectable_.”

A burst of laughter erupted all around Alec, and it was like hearing a song he had only caught the opening notes to. It was a laugh that fed his hunger for knowledge. Alec wanted to hear the laughter again as soon as it had faded.

The voice spoke again, the tone changing to amusement. “You do know how to woo a downworlder, my mysterious sir.”

“I’m not here to-“ Alec broke off. He cleared his throat and tried again, still a little dazed by the sensation of magic in the air. “I require an audience with Magnus Bane. Please. I…can leave my weapons outside?”

There was a moment’s silence then, and Alec feared the voice – perhaps the warlock’s apprentice or guard – had grown bored.

“You would walk unarmed into a warlock’s home?”

The voice was now so soft.

Alec only caught the words because he had stepped closer to the door and was inclining his head to listen for the sound of movement inside.

There was a vulnerability to it that surprised Alec, and he scolded himself for thinking so ignorantly.

Who was he to question another’s emotions? He; someone who hid from them as though they were the devil himself. He; who would rather die in battle than have the time to consider his heart’s desires.

“Who are you?” the voice asked again.

“Someone who needs help,” Alec replied, honestly. He pressed his forehead against the door and sighed. “Please, let me speak to Magnus Bane.”

He could not travel half a day’s ride and return without even seeing the warlock. He would not. He would stay out all night until the guard surrendered and let him inside, or perhaps even climb the tree outside-

A loud click broke the silence.

With a creek, the door slowly slid open, leaving Alec standing there. The door was open.

He ought to enter. He thought this for a few moments, but was unable to move his feet.

He frowned.

Suddenly the weight of his sword had grown even heavier, and as if the tower – or the warlock himself – was instructing him, Alec slowly unbuckled his sword and let it drop to the floor. He discarded the small daggers in his riding belt and even slid off his gloves; knowing that some knights hid weapons in the tiny folds of leather.

“I’m unarmed,” he called out.

And then Alec stepped inside Ash Tower.

“Do make yourself comfortable, sir. I will be but a moment.”

The voice that called out sounded high up, and Alec tilted his head back and gazed upwards; at the hollowed inside of the tower that stretched up onto the top floor.

The voice had echoed down from one of the higher floors; the same musical voice from earlier. Even though the voice was now speaking without the help of what Alec assumed was magical enhancement, it still spread strange tingles down Alec’s arms and reached the tips of his toes.

The man’s voice was cheerful, and not at all like the one he’d heard moments ago. The one previously had been laced with surprise and hesitation, as though he was hearing the unimaginable. This voice was breezy and graceful, and Alec could feel it once again dancing around him like wisps of smoke or fire.

The man had said to make himself comfortable, but Alec could only gaze in wonder at the spectacle around him.

The room opened up into a large, circular space with a winding staircase that ran around the outside of the room; leading up, and up, and up until Alec grew too dizzy to follow its ascension.

What caught his eye was the piles and piles of books; spell books and books with colourful covers and worn spines. Some were half-open, pressed with leaves or flowers. Others were piled up and dusty, and Alec bit back a scowl at seeing such treasures hidden away.

Then something clicked into place.

_Warlocks aren’t allowed spell books…_

Alec fought the urge to steal the books and take them back to the palace, or to one of the Crown libraries scattered around the kingdom.

This was the warlock’s home.

He could not steal from a powerful man and live. Especially now that he had left his weapons outside.

Which was beginning to feel like a move more suited to Jace; reckless and arrogant. It was not the move one made as a prince, or a ruler. He hadn’t considered the many ways the warlock could overpower him.

Alec gulped down his fear and took in the rest of the room.

There were tables everywhere. There were small, wooden tables carved elegantly, and strange, darker tables with symbols in a language Alec couldn’t even identify hacked into them.

In the centre there was a cauldron, where billowing smoke of varying colours emerged in small tendrils of faint magic. The gentle bubbling was one of the only sounds in the tower, apart from the footsteps growing louder as a figure came down the stairs from above.

Alec gazed around the room, his eyes catching something new every time; a curled up cat resting atop a large chair, a handful of cushions in the corner, and the numerous paintings hanging on the walls. He only had time to properly study one of them; a pale painting of a tall tower, dark and gloomy, where a lady in the tallest room rested her head outside of the low window. Her red hair tumbled out of the tower, cascading down the walls but not quite reaching the bottom.

He found the painting both beautiful and frightening. There was something deadly about being trapped in a forest, and his mind wandered to the Shadowlands; and how long they would survive in such a place.

“Please, do excuse the smoke. I was not expecting guests. The Lovelace brat requested a potion that required me to search through almost my entire collection of books.”

The figure was closer.

Alec could hear the voice was louder now, but he was leaning down and admiring one of the tables; his back naively turned away from the approaching man. 

The figure continued to speak. “Obviously I didn’t tell her that most of them are on a rather unlawful – and permanent- loan from the Lightwoods-“

Alec quickly stood, and turned around.

The figure had finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

And then, three things happened at once.

The first, was that Magnus Bane – who was now standing in front of him – strung together a rather impressive collection of curses that even Jace would have praised him for.

The second thing that happened was that Alec, rather stupidly, waved at the warlock.

He waved.

At a warlock.

A warlock who had just confessed to stealing a bunch of books from the royal library, which Alec could easily condemn him for.

And Alec had waved like he was greeting an old friend.

The third was the most unsettling, not because it was an action, but because it was a thought that frightened Alec with its certainty. It was so vivid and honest.

Because Alec realised that Magnus Bane was still as beautiful as he had remembered.

He was still tall and sharp-jawed; with golden cat eyes that shone briefly as he stared in surprise at the prince.

As a child, he had recalled Magnus as an angel.

Which was ironic, considering how it was common knowledge that warlocks, as well as all downworlders, were part demon. But to Alec, a young boy with untampered innocence, Magnus had been this strange and beautiful creature from a story.

He had moved with an elegant grace, as though he were part of the very earth and wind itself.

Alec thought about that now.

He had read that some warlocks had strong pulls to the elements; calling their magic from fire, water, earth and air.

He looked at Magnus Bane and couldn’t decide which suited the warlock more.

Some would say fire; for the dangerous look in his eyes, and the small lick of blue magic sparking in his open hands. Others would easily say earth; for the confidence in his stance and the way he held himself like he could call upon the floor below his feet, or the sky above his head, for assistance.

And then Alec realised he was like water; fluid and ever-changing as he circled Alec warily.

The prince stood still, holding his breath as the warlock stepped a little closer and ran his gaze down every inch of his body.

“I’m unarmed. I promise,” Alec said, hating how hoarse and unsteady his voice sounded. The shaking was easy to dismiss it as fear, so he did just that.

“I see that, sir.”

And then Magnus stood in front of him again, slightly more relaxed as he tilted his chin and cocked his head.

It was a gesture that Alec had remembered from their first meeting; how the warlock would tilt his head and smirk. He did that now, and Alec fought back the blush creeping into his cheeks.

And then Magnus smiled, and Alec felt stripped to the bone.

He was unarmed in so many aspects; against such a smile, what could prevent victory?

His smile was sharp and curved into his handsome face like a dagger. The power radiated from him still, even after the blue magic faded into the air and he relaxed his defensive stance into a casual, relaxed one.

Alec tore his eyes away from Magnus’ smile long enough to notice that his robes were a beautifully vivid purple; sparkling and shimmering like a thousand tiny stars. They brushed the floor, making gentle sounds that sounded like the ocean kissing the shore, and Alec wondered if there was anything about Magnus that didn’t make him want to gaze in wonder.

The logical part of Alec suddenly snapped back to attention, like a guard returning to its post.

“Magnus Bane,” he greeted with a quick nod of his head.

He placed his arms over his chest and tried to steady his gaze. But that only drew the prince’s gaze back to Magnus’ face, and he noticed a deep purple, glittering powder dusting his eyelids. His lovely eyes were also outlined in black, making the golden colour of his iris’ seem like heavenly light.

And then Magnus held out a hand to him, and Alec fought against the instinct to step back.

Only moments ago there had been sparks in his hand. What was to stop the warlock sparking them across his skin?

Alec ground his teeth together, angered once again by the instincts and lessons he had been taught.

Even now, he was torn between wanting to greet Magnus with respect and demand his guidance as the rightful heir of Idris.

He hid the inner battle carefully, and took Magnus’ hand in his own, shaking it. The warmth of the warlock’s fingers surprised him, and he felt the strength, but also the gentleness in his touch.

“Prince Alexander.”

Alec dropped his hand quickly as his eyes widened. “Y-you know me?”

Magnus’ lips twitched. “Are you honestly asking if I do not know who my future king is? Do I look like a simpleton?” He gestured with a flourish to his beautiful robes. “Would a simpleton wear robes like this? I think not, Your Highness.”

Alec hid his surprise.

A strange feeling came over him, and he realised where it was coming from.

He had never been teased like this.

He had often endured, and secretly welcomed, Jace and his sister’s quips, but there was something different about Magnus’ playfulness. It was more subtle; crafted to give its recipient both pleasure and flushed cheeks.

When Magnus smirked at him, Alec realised he still hadn’t replied. “Uh, sorry. I meant no offence.”

Was he really apologising for hiding his identity, yet again? Was he doomed to repeat the same conversation with Magnus for all of eternity?

_The quest. Remember?_

“I have a proposition for you," he rushed out, clearing his throat and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Yes, you said that already.” Magnus gave a small laugh, and the sound was a welcome distraction from Alec’s nerves.

The warlock collapsed into a large chair, placing his long legs on a nearby table. His hands moved gracefully as he gestured for Alec to take a seat. “If you’re after intrigue, you certainly have my attention, Alexander. Go on.”

Alec opened his mouth to correct Magnus. He ought to be addressing him as his title ordered, but he glanced once as the warlock’s smiling face and strange beauty and didn’t feel the need to inforce rank.

Still feeling a little unnerved at being without weapons, Alec took a seat opposite the warlock and placed his leather gloves on the table.

Behind them, gentle whispers from the cauldron filled the air with colour.

“I would like to request your assistance," he began. “For a quest.”

Magnus perked up. “An adventure? Well, now, don’t keep in in suspense, my dear prince. Do go on.”

Alec ignored the way he felt as Magnus studied him.

He was already unaware of what to make of his reaction to the warlock, he didn’t need Magnus toying with him because he was unarmed.

He straightened his shoulder, stared across at Magnus and said, plainly, “We are questing to find the Mortal Cup. Would you be our guide through the Shadowlands?”

~ 

When Magnus had stepped onto the ground floor and seen Alec, he hadn’t quite known what to do next.

Seeing the prince had conflicted the warlock.

From the brief memory he had of the sweet, young boy, Magnus wanted to greet Alec warmly and offer him a drink.

But Alec was no longer that boy. He was, in fact, Prince Alexander of Idris; heir to a kingdom that disliked all of his kind, and other downworlders.

Magnus had no idea what the years had done to Alexander.

 _Well, the years sure did some things right,_ he had thought with appreciation, slyly circling Alec and pretending to examine him for weapons.

The prince had grown into a man worthy of bringing armies to their knees.

His was a face born to wear a crown and lift swords and live long in the hearts of others.

The sharp lines of Alec’s jaw and the swirls of hazel colours in his eyes – eyes that gazed at him from underneath thick, full lashes – had Magnus wanting to check his appearance in the mirror quickly. Just to make sure he looked his best.

His smile faded a little when he noticed other things; hidden things beneath the surface of the prince.

Alec’s posture was too forced; too stiff and practised. He held himself like he was playing by the rules of someone else’s game, and not his own. His hands twitched, and Magnus knew he was eager to have a weapon in his hands.

 _As was the way of mortals,_ Magnus thought sadly _. So eager to fight and kill, but not to live. You would rather breed fear into your young than teach them to be brave._

He realised that he had no idea who the man standing before him was.

Alec was a prince, but he was also the little boy who had so eagerly wanted to talk to someone, and Magnus was unsure.

Now, sitting across from the prince at the table, Magnus threw back his head and laughed. It was too amusing. What he was suggesting was too impossible to even be considered the slightest bit honest.

“Are you thinking of becoming a royal jester, Alexander?” he teased.

When the prince frowned, Magnus stopped laughing. He swung his legs off the table and settled Alec with a piercing gaze.

“No," he said firmly. He held up a finger. “No.” He held up another. “No. No. And no.”

Alec ran a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds like a fool’s quest, but-“

“No, Alec. A fool’s quest would be sneaking out of the palace to rendezvous in the palace gardens with your sweetheart. A fool’s quest would be challenging me to go two nights without changing into a different set of robes. This…is a fantasy.”

The prince ignored his dismissive remarks. He looked surprised and asked, “So you don’t believe in the Cup?”

Magnus hesitated. “It’s not that simple.”

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard myths, or legends, told about such an object.

He knew warlocks who had claimed to know another warlock who had once travelled to the island, but had never returned.

To mortals, Magnus knew he must seem ancient and godly.

To him, and his kind, he was a young warlock. He felt blessed that death and loss had not touched him as it had others, though he certainly had had his fair share of heartache and self-loathing.

 _Much like every downworlder,_ he thought bitterly.

He glanced across at Alec then, knowing the prince wasn’t responsible. Yet still it was hard to separate frustration and blame.

“Fine," Magnus said, waving a hand absently. “If you are set on this quest, what do you need a lowly downworlder’s help for?”

Alec opened his mouth, hesitated and closed it again. He rocked back in his chair slightly and considered his words. When he spoke, his voice was lower, mixed with a nervous energy of sorts. The prince had something to prove, but to who Magnus was uncertain.

“Have you been into the Shadowlands?” Alec asked.

Magnus bristled at that.

He stood in a single, fluid motion and made his way across the room. If he was going to deal with whatever mixed emotions Alec was stirring, he needed at least half a dozen goblets of wine.

He gulped the first down, poured out another, and then quickly filled another cup for the prince, who looked at it with narrowed eyes.

“It’s wine. Not poison,” Magnus scoffed. “If I ever wish to kill you, I'll do so without trickery.”

As soon as the words had slipped out, Magnus stilled.

He had remembered too late who he was talking to, and waited for the moment that Alec would react violently, turn back to his beloved castle and send his knights to collect his head.

To his surprise, Alec laughed, and the sound was so unexpected and gentle that Magnus laughed himself.

“I appreciate your honesty.” The prince studied him with an amused look in his eyes, and Magnus could tell he was being sincere.

Magnus hid a sigh of relief.

He would not be beheaded this day.

Wishing to swiftly move on, he took a gulp of wine and settled back into his chair. “Yes, to answer your question. I have been to the Shadowlands. Not recently, however. I rather like it here, despite the…solitude.”

The prince looked away, his cheeks a furious shade of red.

Magnus wanted to feel angry, he wanted to curse the prince and his family to hell and back, but the prince’s honesty was too refreshing to hate. He was clearly embarrassed by the topic of downworlder laws, which had to mean that he had at least questioned them.

Magnus stored this memory in the back of his mind, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Although I have lived alone for many years, I do believe I have friends who have made the Shadowlands their home. It would be easy to locate them once inside. From there, I suppose you could safely travel through. But, Alec-" he leaned in slightly- “Would you trust downworlders to protect you?”

The prince swallowed, and Magnus looked at him thoughtfully.

There was something about Alec that was still innocent. He was curious and not fully formed in his beliefs and ideals.

Long ago, Magnus would have dismissed such innocence, not wanting to see it corrupted and destroyed before his eyes, but if Alec had survived such an upbringing of strong prejudice, would there be hope for all?

“Alexander,” he said the prince’s name quietly. “What does my castle look like to you? Will you describe it for me? Please?” he added, knowing the request was a little strange to an outsider. To a mortal.

Alec raised his brow. For a moment, Magnus thought he would ignore his request, but then he cleared his throat and began. “It’s tall, I guess. Uh, gray. But not an ugly gray. And of course, there’s the tree.”

Magnus tilted his head, even more intrigued.

_A tree. How curious._

“What kind of tree?”

Alec bit his lip in concentration, and the gesture distracted him for a moment. Magnus flickered his gaze down, at the slight hint of bare skin just above his black tunic. The red threads around the collar were exquisite, and Magnus tapped his fingers against the desk to suppress the desire to touch them.

“It was twisted,” Alec replied, finally. “And it has flowers growing all over the trunk. Uh, why do you ask?”

Magnus finished his goblet and sat it down on the table, looking at it and casually replying, “No reason.”

But he couldn’t help himself.

He looked across at Alec and asked, “What type of flowers? And what colour?”

Now the prince frowned even deeper. “They were purple," he said, frustration seeping into his tone.

 _That symbolises secrecy,_ Magnus quickly analysed. _Also transitions and journeys. Something important is coming for you, Alexander._

Purple also symbolised, in many ancient spells and readings, otherworldly aspects.

Magnus looked at Alec and hid a frown.

Though he was mortal, Magnus couldn’t argue with what Alec had seen. The spell was always accurate in most senses, even if it took Magnus a little while to work out the full meaning.

He had cast the illusion spell quite soon after Camille had fled, never wanting to misjudge another again; mortal or downworlder.

He shook thoughts of her away and refocused on the prince, who was still lost in thought.

“And the type? I have no idea.” Alec gestured with his hands in an irritated manner. It was so childlike that Magnus almost laughed out loud. “I guess they were…small. And the petals were close together. They were very symmetrical-“

He broke off with a sound that sounded caught between a sigh and a growl. “Magnus, please, why is this important?”

Magnus hid his smile.

It was the first time Alec had ever spoken his name. It surprised Magnus how much he liked the sound of his name from the prince’s lips.

“Did it look like this?” Magnus asked, softly. He held up a hand and waved his hand, slowly as not to frighten the other man.

A flower formed in the centre of Magnus’ palm; a purple peony.

Alec swallowed, staring at the flower in his hand. He nodded, and watched intently as the flower faded; slowed by the blackness.

 _Peony_ , Magnus closed his eyes and thought. _Shame and bashfulness, but also compassion._

From the brief time he had spent with Alec, he could neither dismiss nor agree with these judgements.

But if he was honest, Magnus was certain they were more truth than lie. Alec's shyness was clear, but there was compassion in the very evidence that he was here, unguarded and open, at a warlock's home. 

“There were a great deal of steps,” Alec finished, and he took a slow sip from his goblet, giving Magnus the time to consider this.

Alec’s vision was strange.

It was unusual for a mortal to see the castle as something both mysterious and frightening.

Normally the spell cast an illusion that it was black, not gray, and it certainly didn’t contain flowers or elements of nature.

Magnus decided it was time to redirect the conversation once more.

The cauldron was still bubbling gently, but he knew that it needed his attention sooner or later. He hid his disappointment that Alec would be leaving soon, and likely not returning. He had quite enjoyed the company.

“Please.”

Something in him demanded that he look across at Alec.

What he saw took his breath away.

Here was a man, not just a mortal man, but a prince, letting himself beg a downworlder for help. The wide eyes and anxious expression Alec wore was like a fist to Magnus’ heart. It broke through everything he fought so hard to avoid; the fear, the loss, the pain of love.

 _Who are you, Alexander?_ He thought in wonder, slightly dazed by the prince.

It was not just his physical beauty, which Magnus had no shame in appreciating, but his soul; it was on full display.

It was raw energy, waiting to turn into something.

And Magnus was being offered a chance to witness it.

_And the chance to lead royalty into a dark, dangerous place filled with magic that may or may not be their doom._

_How noble of you._

What else did he have to do?

Sit around and make potions for vain noblemen and ladies to purchase his services for love potions and headache balms?

Alec was offering him the chance to be a part of something.

But Magnus knew the dangers too.

If he said no, would Alec and his company ride into the Shadowlands anyway? Without a warlock’s protection, they would likely perish rather quickly, waltzing into werewolf territory, or picking a fight with a sorcerer.

Did Alec even know about warlocks and sorcerers?”

Magnus knew quite painfully that the prince did not. Nor would be able to tell the difference without him.

He also knew that prejudice was a double-edged sword; a group of mortals inside a downworlder domain could cause an uprising or a war. And there had been enough bloodshed and violence to last many lifetimes. Magnus did not want to stand back and let that happen. Not again.

“Perhaps I could take you to a friend," he began smoothly, flicking his wrist casually and toying with his sleeve. “Someone who can take you the rest of the way, to the island.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Alec’s features then, but he quickly covered it. “You…will not see the quest through alongside us?”

Anger suddenly flared in Magnus’ heart.

Without warning, he created a burst of bright blue flames in his left hand.

The prince leapt to his feet, reaching for a sword that was no longer there. His hazel eyes were wide with a fear that Magnus had expected, but still ached to see.

He closed his hand, destroying the fire and victoriously tilting his goblet in Alec’s direction.

“Because of that, Alec," Magnus said, coldly. “You do not trust me, and I do not trust you. I would be risking my life for you, and your knights; who would much rather throw themselves behind me as if I were a shield than offer me equal protection.”

But Magnus couldn’t fight his basic desire to protect others.

Mortal or downworlder, compassion was Magnus’ own fatal flaw.

One day it would likely send him to his long-overdue grave.

He pushed aside thoughts of his immortality and looked at Alec, who was still standing and watching him.

“Look,” Magnus said. “This is my offer; take it or leave it. I will serve as your guide until we reach the Caves of Old. I will have a more appropriate guide meet us there, where we can part ways. I also require payment.”

He scanned his eyes around the room and a flash of red caught his eyes. “Rubies," he said cheerfully. “Yes, rubies will do quite nicely.”

He hated rubies. Why had he asked for rubies?

Truthfully, Magnus detested payment. It was evidence that he was tolerated for his gifts, not for his company or words.

_No one hires warlocks for their charming personalities._

But Magnus was also afraid for the prince.

It was a frustrating emotion as he knew that should the situations be reversed, Alec would dismiss his life without a care. All his kind would. But for Magnus, all life was precious, even the ones who blamed him for a battle that had been led by a mortal man. The hypocrisy of it made his blood boil.

He thought of Alec riding into the Shadowlands without him, facing magic and enemies alone.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, quickly interrupted his own thoughts. The warlock pushed his chair away and stood a few steps away from the prince.

Alec clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, set his jaw, and then asked, “Where are the Caves of the Old?”

Magnus felt his jaw drop.

Was he serious?

He could not be serious.

“Alexander…do you know anything about the Shadowlands?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly. But…I can speak Fae. Sort of,” Alec mumbled.

Magnus threw his arms up in the air. “So why are you doing all of this? Hm? Why are you risking your life for a quest that has quickly been chosen to kill you before you become king?”

Alec flinched back as if Magnus had slapped him.

The warlock realised too late that his taunts had been a little too accurate.

Surprisingly, the prince remained in the room with him. He didn’t storm out, or lash out. He simply stood his ground and folded his arms across the chest.

His stubbornness was amusing, despite Magnus’ frustration that the prince surely had a death wish.

“Because.”

“Because?” Magnus repeated, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Really, Your Highness, you must choose your words more wisely. When they crown you, are you going to say that you felt like becoming king ‘just because’?”

“I have my reasons for accepting this quest. I am not asking you to question them. I am asking you to guide us to the island, or to whomever you trust will take us there faster.”

After moments slowly bled into the next, Magnus couldn’t take the silence anymore. He surrender with a sigh. “The Ancient Fae would also be a helpful source of information. Inside the Shadowlands, I suppose I could take you there. They may know something about the Cup that doesn’t come from a leather-bound book.”

Alec tapped a finger against his lower lip, drawing Magnus’ attention to the prince’s long fingers and dirt-stained nails. Magnus looked surprised that Alec was willing to stain his lovely hands.

“My sister has a connection to a Seelie. Would that be useful?”

Magnus didn’t hide his surprise that time. “Isabelle Lightwood, the princess, spends time with downworlders?” He snorted. “Have I awoken in another realm or is that…equality I am sensing?” The bitterness laced his teasing, turning it into something darker. He was testing Alec, and the prince reacted carefully.

“If you do not trust me, I understand-“

“Trust you?” Magnus interrupted. “Who said anything about trust? All I want is a reason. Just the one.” He eyed the prince curiously. “Why are you risking your life to retrieve a legend?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to be the king of a broken kingdom so desperately?”

Alec shifted on his feet, shuffling as he looked down.

It was not what Magnus had expected from a prince, nor from a Lightwood either. In the past, he had known the Lightwoods to be loyal yet stubborn and far too headstrong and set in their beliefs for him to properly understand them. The prince seemed…different.

Magnus once again thought to what the spell had shown Alec. He had seen nature and flowers, not just magic. He had been shown mystery and a long journey ahead. It was unusual for a mortal to be so complex.

 _Now who is the prejudice one?_ He scolded himself.

Distracting himself from his mixed emotions, Magnus took a step towards Alec and wiggled a hand under the prince’s surprised face.

“So? Tell me why, Alec.”

And then he waited.

~

Gazing at Magnus reminded Alec of his own mortality.

He had been trained to be a leader of men, and yet, being beside such a powerful warlock questioned everything Alec had been taught.

He felt insignificant.

But also curious. And curiosity, his mother had always warned, was a quick and dangerous road to weakness.

He had opened his mouth to reveal the truth to Magnus; that he wanted to bring about a new age for mortals and downworlders alike.

But he doubted that the warlock would believe him.

Why would he?

As heir to a throne that had only caused Magnus and his kind pain and injustice, why would he consider that Alec wanted to choose his own path?

Instead, he kept his voice level and answered, “Because a prince does not refuse a quest. The kingdom expects me to become a leader on this quest. I am simply following orders.”

Alec was surprised at how smoothly the lie had rolled of his tongue.

“Hm, I see.” Magnus blinked, and the shimmering powder on his eyes caught Alec’s attention. It was made up of many tiny, glittering dots that caught the light from the open windows.

He stared, unable to tear his gaze away from the colourful chaos that was Magnus Bane.

When Magnus spoke, his voice had lost its anger.

Alec ignored the relief that spread through him.

“Well, the Shadowlands are indeed a place of discovery. A place of strange magic and unexpected pathways.”

The corners of Magnus' lips tugged into a smile that reached his bright eyes. It filled his face with a cheerful light; one that caught Alec’s breath as he watched the warlock grin at him. It was a smile that contained secrets.

Magnus’ words echoed throughout the tower, and throughout the prince’s entire body. “Are you ready for the unexpected, Alexander?”

Before he could hesitate, Alec nodded.

He squared his shoulders and forced a smile onto his face; one that he hoped wouldn’t reflect the strange emotions the warlock was pulling from him.

“Magnus Bane," he said quietly. The name seemed to bounce off the walls, whispering back and forth between the pair. It danced around Alec, and he seemed to feel it sink into his skin like ink.

The weight of the warlock’s full name on his lips had struck him as intimate.

He quickly finished his sentence, “Do you accept your position as our guide?”

“I will," the warlock replied.

“Thank you," he said, abruptly turning to pick up his gloves before heading towards to door. “We will be riding out at dawn. Be prepared.”

The warlock raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, p-please,” Alec stuttered out. “ _Please_ be ready.”

Magnus’ lips twitched again.

Alec decided then that he was going to curse himself the entire ride back to the castle.

What a complete fool he had made of himself; stumbling over his words in front of a powerful warlock.

_And all because he smiled at you-_

Alec caught his foot on one of the wooden floorboards. He quickly caught himself, glancing at Magnus to see if he had caught the stumble. Fortunately, the warlock had turned back to whatever spell he was brewing and had missed Alec’s almost-fall.

 _Get it together,_ he told himself.

“I will, I mean, _we_ , will see you tomorrow?”

Without glancing back, Magnus waved a hand at him. His voice carried over the smoke. “I’ll be ready. Now go back to your castle, Your Highness. We wouldn’t want your reputation tarnished over you being alone in a warlock’s castle overnight, hm?”

Alec was extremely glad that Magnus’ back was to the prince. He felt as if his cheeks were on fire.

He hesitated, shoving his gloves on and rubbing the back of his neck. He turned to leave, and then turned back. He rocked back and forth on his heels, drumming his fingers against his knees.

“Anything else, my dear?”

“Uh, no.” Alec ceased his tapping. “No. Sorry. Just…”

Sensing his hesitation, Magnus spun around and faced him with a smile. “Goodbye, Alec. Travel safe.” His expression was soft, and though he stood a safe distance away, Alec felt something pull taunt inside his chest; as though a cord connecting them wanted to tug him closer.

Alec had his hand on the door, pulling it open, when Magnus cleared his throat.

“One small question before you leave.”

Alec turned back around in an instant.

Was the warlock going to politely back down from the quest? Was he going to laugh and dismiss Alec’s reckless journey with a wave of his hand a swish of his cloak?

Alec was frustrated at how strongly he wanted Magnus to say yes; to be by his side as they rode into the Shadowlands.

Magnus took a step closer, tilting his head.

Alec exhaled sharply and forced his breathing to remain steady, but his fingers still shook slightly.

The warlock raised a hand, not touching him, but his fingers ghosting just above his cheek.

“Do you still think I’m beautiful, Alexander?” His voice was barely a whisper, but it was spoken far too intimately for the prince’s liking.

_Yes._

Alec said nothing. He disappeared through the door without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Alec met again!!  
> What were your favourite parts/lines? :)  
> I love hearing your comments so please, if you have the time, drop me a line. I'm 'swans-hooks-and-books' on tumblr, so come and chat with me whenever! <3 <3


	3. The Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, so this chapter really took off and became quite long. Sorry, not sorry? :D  
> I hope you enjoy it! <3

Alec could hardly hear himself think over the fanfares and cheers of the gathered crowd.

Outside the castle, his people waited; dozens upon dozens of lords, ladies, peasant folk and children waiting to wave farewell.

Earlier that morning he had assembled his knights one last time.

Before they set off, he wanted them to have a final chance to stay behind.

“Once we are inside, there will be no turning back.” He had warned them. “Now is your final chance to step back. I’m not going to stand here and pretend that I can guarantee anyone’s safety.” He glanced around the table, keeping his gaze as gentle as possible. “I understand should anyone change their minds.”

No one had hesitated.

“Very well. We ride at noon.”

And now, astride his horse – a beautiful, elegant beast named Sagitta – Alec waited for the gate to be lifted. The very same gate that would lift to reveal the long pathway that led through the nearest village, past Ash Tower, and then; straight towards the Shadowlands.

Behind him, atop their own horses, his companions waited.

A hushed silence had arisen throughout the morning, and Alec had only spoken with his parents. They had wished him a quick farewell and that was it. No one else dared to say another word, out of fear or excitement he didn’t know.

He heard the soft clapping of horse hooves and then a rider appeared beside him.

Dark brown leather, riding gear, and a silver, coiled whip appeared in his eye line.

“Ready, big brother?” Izzy asked quietly. She was staring ahead, but Alec could tell by her firmly set lips and her narrowed eyes that her expression fierce. The horse she rode, an elegant white creature named Elpis snorted gently as it greeted Alec’s own horse.

The two animals were, also, brother and sister, and it had always made Alec and Izzy share a secret smile whenever they felt their two horses relax beside each other; just as they themselves did.

“As can be.” He muttered, reaching up for the fourth time that day to adjust a crown that was no longer there.

Everyone had agreed that riding into a place of unknown magic with a crown on his head was an insane idea. It would be arrogant to flourish his royalty in the home of downworlders. Who knew how they would react to a company of knights and royalty riding into their forest without announcement?

So he, and the entire company, had kept their supplies to a minimal; riding outfits with simple armour, gauntlets or chainmail. However, they did bring a spare horse to carry extra weapons. Just in case.

Alec himself wore a black tunic with golden etches.

It was his archer outfit as it had been custom fitted with long, loose sleeves that would give him easy movement when drawing back a bow. Around his waist he wore a simple, thick belt with a handful of small daggers and arrow head replacements. His favourite bow was slung over his shoulder, held by a large, but light, dark green quiver. The large hood of his cloak was down, and Alec resisted the urge to cover his face with it and grant himself anonymity.

They would ride for a few hours, where they would meet Magnus Bane just outside Ash Tower, and then set up camp just at the outskirts of the Shadowlands. He wanted his knights to feel well rested before they properly began the quest.

Alec quickly reminded himself that the quest would begin as soon as he entered.

He was, in a way, undertaking two tasks; to find the Cup – or whatever was on the island of Alicante – and to prove the innocence of downworlders.

_Why must you do this?_ A part of Alec snarled at himself; the parts that had been born and raised with hatred and fear _. Downworlders mean nothing to you. Why are you trying to help them? They would gladly see mortals like you dead._

Still, Alec wanted peace.

But there was just a small problem, which was that he had no idea how to lead himself, or others, into creating that peace.

_Perhaps the quest can show me how,_ he thought.

Glancing back at his assembled group, he almost smiled.

He was not alone in this quest. With their help and strength and support, surely they could not fail?

Alec suddenly thought of something the warlock had said to him.

_‘Do you want to be the king of a broken kingdom so desperately?’._

Was it true? Did the warlock’s words speak true?

Alec suddenly worried that he was going about such a dangerous endeavour for all the wrong reasons.

Though he had been raised and expected to be king, why was he risking so much just to prove himself to be worthy? Did his loyalty expect so much that it would have him die rather than accept defeat?

“Alec,” Izzy’s voice was soft and soothing as she nudged him with an elbow. Her whip glistened in the light of the high sun. “We are going to find the Cup. I promise. Try not to look so hopeless before we even reach the Shadowlands.”

“Prince of Hopelessness.” Alec muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s what I’ll be remembered as.”

Izzy shook her head firmly. “No, that’s not true. And you know it.” She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. “Alexander the loyal.” She said kindly. Her lips then twitched into a grin. “And the elder brother of the most beautiful princess in all the land.”

They sat like that, together, for a few moments, before the sound of the gate rising interrupted their silence.

Alec inhaled sharply as the gate slowly rose.

It was time.

As the structure rose higher, the gatherers cheered louder from all sides; some throwing colourful ribbons of good fortune into the air, and placing them on the pathway that stood before the knights.

A small girl with a wide grin handed Isabelle a purple ribbon, and Izzy took it with a gracious nod and tied it around her arm. The little girl clapped her hands together and gasped in delight.

Alec smiled at that. His sister always knew how to please the people; how to befriend others with her natural charm and good humour.

He struggled in connecting to others. There was always something inside Alec that tried to pull away.

Jace cleared his throat, and called out in a tease, “Do try and keep up with us, Alec!”

Alec snorted. “And who was it who was knocked unconscious because they rode into a low branch?”

“Some other handsome guy.”

“I see.”

Quieter, Jace said, “We’ve got your back, Alec. From here until the end.”

Alec swallowed back the fear and nodded, twisting in his seat to meet Jace’s eyes. He met his friend’s look of support with as much courage as he could muster up, hoping that his knights would see a confident leader, and not a boy too afraid to even face himself.

Glancing up at the castle, Alec felt his stomach tie itself into anxious knots as his parents came to stand on the balcony. Even from so far away, their stares were like ice; freezing up the warmth he had just felt talking to his sister and Jace.

They watched with carefully concealed disappointment.

Alec could no longer bear it, and turned back around to see the gate was almost fully above their heads.

He heard Aline give a little cheer, and Jace joined in as the crowd parted to let them through. The six of them led their horses on, careful to look out for any wayward young ones in their path.

When the gate was fully opened, Alec gently guided his horse into the front. Izzy was close behind him, then Jace and Lydia; with Aline and Helen bringing up the rear of their small group.

They rode away from the safety of the palace, and into the unknown adventure awaiting them.

~

Simon and Raphael stood together, watching from the library palace as the prince and his companions rode off.

“So it begins.” Simon mumbled.

Raphael glanced towards him, and then quickly away.

With his slight curls and high cheekbones, it was all too easy to forget that Simon was a simple bookkeeper. Still, he couldn’t help but stay beside him for a few more moments. He would allow himself that.

“The princess can protect herself.” Raphael said, coolly. He was well aware of his friend’s fondness for Isabelle, and knew it was not an affection that would end well.

Yet again, neither was his.

“Uh, yes. Yes, she can.” Simon swallowed, still watching as the riders grew smaller and smaller. “But why does it feel like they’re not going to come back?”

Raphael didn’t answer. He had felt it too. Alongside Will and Jem, he was the only knight who had stayed behind, and although he wanted to protect the prince, Raphael was secretly relieved. If there was indeed something brewing in the castle – a shift in loyalty or a threatening plan – then Raphael would locate it.

And if it meant that he could also be around Simon, and keep an eye on the foolishly naïve young man, then Raphael would follow his orders.

He leaned onto the balcony and tried to keep his voice steady. Still, a little of his fear had crept into his words. “All we can do is wait now. Their fate will be decided soon.”

Simon tilted his head towards him, his lips pulling into a small smile. “Thanks for the words of comfort.”

Raphael opened his mouth to apologise, and then closed it. He looked away first.

What was it that his mother had once said to him?

_You must learn to speak through your actions, not your words._

Apparently he wasn’t so good at either.

Raphael scowled to himself and watched as Simon continued to gaze out after the riders. What was he thinking?

_You could always ask._

Raphael straightened his shoulders and took a step back. “Excuse me. I have the new squires to train in the evening.”

Simon tore his eyes away from the company – who were now distant dots riding through the closest villages – and nodded to Raphael. A smile touched his lips, just for a moment. “See you.”

He turned back around and Raphael gazed at him a moment longer. The back of his head was softly lit by the midday sun, casting colours into his hair. The soft oranges and yellows danced through Simon’s hair.

Raphael blinked.

He cursed himself for staying too long, turned on the spot, and paced out of the library in frustration.

When would he learn to stop torturing himself by wanting things that were out of reach?

~

 “I thought you described a tree growing around it?”

“Alec, are you sure this is the same place? I’m not waiting around for an ambush from a warlock.”

“I, uh…”

Alec stared up at the tower.

Well, a tower. It was definitely  _a_ tower.

But it wasn’t the one he had seen before.

Nor was there a giant tree twisting around the structure, or purple flowers, or even a great number of stairs for that matter.

This tower was slightly smaller, a softer gray in colour, and had ash falling softly from some unknown spot in the sky. A tiny waterfall was washing over the clifftop where the tower stood, and the gentle sound of water rushing over rocks was peaceful to his ears. Half a dozen orange blossom trees were scattered around the tower, but they did not touch any part of it.

Alec frowned. “This _is_ where the tower was.”

The knights settled around him like a ring of protection.

Jace was the first to speak again. “It doesn’t look like a warlock’s house. It looks too…”

“Beautiful?” Izzy offered. Her smile was wider that everyone else’s as she gazed up at the tower in delight. “Whoever lives there has commendable taste.”

“Thank you, my dear. May I extend the compliment? I do not think I’ve seen such beautiful hair on a mortal in many years!”

Swords were drawn so quickly that Alec barely had time to turn around.

“My, my. What a charming welcome. And they say chivalry is dead.”

Alec knew that voice.

He swung his horse around to face the threat that had startled his knights.

“Lower your swords.” He quickly commanded. “This is Magnus Bane. Our guide.” He added, glaring at Jace. His friend looked ready to leap of his horse and charge straight for the warlock; who had appeared just behind their group.

Alec took a moment to simply look at Magnus.

He was dressed in elegant, deep red robes, which were thick and appropriate for the spring weather. The long sleeves were decorated with swirls of dark gold; the patterns also stitched into the neckline of his robes. His neck was stretched as he gazed up at them, and Alec saw that his eyes were outlined in some sort of gold powder, with a dark line circling his lashes.

He had met him three times now, and Alec was still unable to find the warlock anything other than mesmerising.

Unfortunately, his knights clearly did not.

Although they had lowered their swords, they still placed themselves between Alec and Magnus; carefully guarding their prince against the warlock’s sudden appearance.

On his left forearm, Magnus wore an elegant cuff made of leather, and a handful of necklaces hung around his neck; the charms too small for Alec to properly see.

They clinked pleasantly as the warlock took a step forwards. “Well, do I have the pleasure of knowing your names? Or are we going to travel together in silence? As your guide, I’d hate to keep yelling out, ‘you there!’ or ‘pretty boy’.”

Surprisingly, Jace gave a little snort of laughter. “Pretty boy is fine by me. But you ought to know my name too. Jace Wayland. Welcome to our company.”

“My pleasure.” Magnus lowered himself into a bow that Alec was quite sure was mocking. Still, he admired the elegance of Magnus’ movements as he watched the warlock incline his head at Jace and smirk. “And I was actually referring to the horse.”

Alec hid his smile.

“And you must be the lovely Lady Isabelle. Your Highness.” Magnus greeted. His smile was a little less tainted by pride this time.

Isabelle swung her leg around and dismounted her horse.

Alec watched in surprise as she took a step forward and held out her hand to Magnus. “And you must be the Warlock of Ash Tower.” She greeted with a dazzling grin. “Magnus Bane. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Magnus stared at her hand for a moment in surprise. He then regained his composure and took it carefully in his. Just for a moment, Magnus raised it to his lips and then hesitated. He let go of Izzy’s hand and placed his own behind his back.

It was a gesture Alec knew all too well. One of composure. It was someone who was on guard and unsure.

Alec realised then that Magnus had concealed his true eyes. No longer was he gazing at bold, golden eyes, but at soft green ones; ordinary looking, but still beautiful. He looked away before Magnus caught him staring. Again.

Lydia cleared her throat. “I am Lady Lydia. Welcome.” She said shortly. There was still wariness in her voice, but Alec had expected no less.

Again, Magnus bowed, turning towards the final two in the group.

Aline perked up and gave the warlock a little wave. “Glad to have a guide who knows how to dress well.” She said in friendly humour. “I’m Aline. And this is Helen. We’re here to become legends and find glory.” Her smile widened. “Oh, and to protect the prince here. Obviously.”

Magnus’ own lips pulled into a smile. “Obviously.” He repeated with a wink. Again, he bowed. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

Beside her, Helen nodded. She was quiet as she watched the interaction carefully. There was something in her expression that was wary, but it was a defensive sort of fear, one that made her hide beneath her hair and shift under the warlock’s gaze.

_Was she afraid of him?_ Alec wondered sadly. _Or afraid of what he could do to her?_

Helen then ran a hand along her ears self-consciously and he wondered if Magnus had picked up on her fear.

Apparently, he had, because Magnus was watching Helen with quiet interest. He didn’t say anything, but the curious look in his eyes made Alec even more confused. What was he missing here?

“And you are?”

Magnus’ voice broke the tension, and when Alec met his gaze, the warlock’s eyes gleamed with a playful tease.

“Prince Alec.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he added, “As you already know.” His expression turned serious. “I’m pleased you decided to join us.”

“Are my…rubies prepared?” Magnus asked with a grin. He stood in a circle of knights, who still watched him with uncertainty, and yet Magnus was confident and relaxed. Or at least presented himself as such.

Alec nodded. “Should you return before us, I have arranged a delivery for you for a sizeable number of rubies. Will that be all?”

Magnus thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “For now.”

Jace narrowed his eyes. “Is the honour of being a part of a quest not good enough for you, warlock?”

“No, _knight_ ,” Magnus hissed the word. “It isn’t. Not when my companions are asking me to risk more than they are.”

“You’re immortal.” Jace said harshly. “You can’t die. We can.”

A dangerous look flashed across Magnus’ face.

It changed him from handsome and playful to powerful in a single moment.

_But no less beautiful._

“And how many friends have you lost, Wayland?” Magnus asked, his voice quiet and deadly. “How many loved ones have you buried? I suspect none. Immortality does not serve as a shield to the dangers of living. I can die, just like you.”

He kept his dark eyes on Jace as he finished, his expression one of cold fury. “If you think warlocks cannot die, then you do not understand the world around you. Therefore you are either really arrogant or really stupid.” Magnus smiled sweetly. “Perhaps both?”

Alec inhaled sharply, waiting for his friend to react to the insult.

He waited for the inevitable reaction.

Surprisingly, Jace simply looked away. His eyes met Lydia’s for a brief moment, and then the pair glanced away from each other.

“Now that we have established that we will all one day die,” Magnus said, dryly. He swept his hands out in-front of him, gesturing to them all. “Can we continue this riveting conversation as we ride?”

“Good idea.” Alec said quickly, wanting to move on as swiftly as possible. The tension between the group was growing, and he needed to dissolve it; and fast.

“Do you have a horse?” He asked Magnus.

The warlock toyed with a silver band around his forefinger. He glanced away from Alec. “Unfortunately my only horse fled recently. Perhaps she found me too dramatic. I did not have time to purchase a new one.” His gaze flickered towards Alec. “My apologies.”

Izzy stepped in before he could think of a reply. “My horse can carry us both. She’s a strong beast. When we reach the Shadowlands, I’m sure we can barter for one. Until then, you can ride with me, Magnus.”

Magnus blinked, clearly surprised by her offer. He glanced at Alec, waiting for him to object to the offer. When the prince didn’t, Magnus smiled and followed Izzy to her horse. The creature snorted gently as he patted its neck, his fingers tracing small circles into the coarse hairs.

“Thank you.” Magnus said quietly. The horse relaxed beneath his touch.

Alec watched as the warlock hesitated and then swung up onto the horse.

Izzy gripped his forearm tightly and helped him shift his weight. “You’re in safe hands.” She grinned. “I promise. Elpis is one of the fastest horses in the palace.”

“Her name is Elpis?” Magnus asked. He glanced down at the horse, his robes settling over the animal like a second coat. Alec watched as the material smoothed out, unable to tear his eyes away from Magnus’ hands. They continued their circling movements, stroking the horse gently.

So recently he had seen magic spark from those hands.

And now, they had turned from weapons to tools of comfort.  

When he looked up, Magnus met the prince’s eyes and smiled. “In the lost language of the Angels, it means ‘hope’.” He said, finally.

Alec felt his skin tingle under the warlock’s expression.

Again, it was so full of mysteries and secrets; things he did not yet know, or could not hope to understand,

_There’s that word again,_ Alec thought. _Hope_.

How powerful a word could be; a word like hope.

He could feel it settle beneath his skin and warm the fears in his heart.

With Magnus alongside them, their company was finally completed.

They were ready.

Alec addressed the group, but it was mainly for the warlock’s benefit that he repeated their plan. “We will be head through the North villages and camp nearby tonight, and then we shall ride until we reach the Shadowlands tomorrow night.”

Just as he reached to urge his horse on, Magnus held up a finger. He looked thoughtful. “May I suggest we ride in a different direction? I believe I can take us to a shortcut that will cut out at least a day’s ride.”

He met Jace’s stare, and felt disappointed when his friend shook his head. “We should stick to our way, Alec. No offence.” Jace added.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “None taken. I’m sure you mortals know a great deal about travelling to the Shadowlands.” He said innocently. “If you say that way is best, I shall humbly follow.”

Alec hesitated. If Magnus really did know a shortcut, it would do them all good to cut out a day’s worth of riding. Their horses would have more energy, and so would they. It also meant that the group might trust Magnus a little more.

Keeping his expression neutral, Alec turned his horse towards Isabelle and Magnus and asked the warlock, “What dangers can we expect?”

“None.” Magnus promised. “You have my word, Alexander.” His gaze was focused on him, and Alec felt drawn in by it, helpless to do anything other than stare back.

“Very well.” Alec nodded. He glanced around at his knights and asked, “Any objections to this decision?”

Though Jace and Helen looked a little unsure, they were both silent. Izzy was smiling in encouragement, and Aline looked, as always, up for anything. Lydia was looking thoughtfully between them all, and when she met Alec’s inviting stare, she simply nodded.

Alec let out a shaky breath. He turned to Magnus. “Lead on. Uh, please.” He added, and then scolded himself for adding it. Why was he already making a fool of himself in front of the warlock? He had vowed to treat him with distant respect; nothing more, nothing less.

But then Magnus had smiled at him, and it shook the very ground beneath his feet.

His eyes shifted slightly then, their true colour shining through as he smirked at the prince. “Always so polite, Alexander.” He said. “Let’s go.”

Before they left, Alec watched as Magnus cast one last look behind him. At the tower.

Alec slowed his horse down, letting the others ride ahead. Izzy was focused, her lips pulled together in a firm line; not paying attention to the two of them.

“Will you miss it?” Alec asked, quietly.

Magnus looked at him in surprise. He smiled fondly as he glanced back again. “A little.”

“But…it’s your home. I already miss mine.”

Izzy glanced at him, and the surprise on her face was so clear that Alec silenced himself.

He hadn’t meant to admit that. Why had he?

But he had seen Magnus looking back at the tower, and in that moment he was not a powerful warlock, but a boy leaving behind his home.

There was no division between them, only understanding.

“I will return soon. And besides,” Magnus smiled, his robes billowing slightly in the breeze. “The company isn’t so bad.”

Alec turned his attention back to the long stretch of woodlands they were riding through.

Anything to ignore the pounding of his heart, and the warlock who had caused it.

~

“Aline, keep that fire as low as possible.”

“Alec, did you want me to take first watch with Lydia?”

“Whoever stole my chainmail, it’s not funny!”

Magnus hung back and watched from the edge of the small clearing as the knights went about setting up camp.

He watched them working as a unit and felt a prick of sadness stabbing into his stomach.

Loneliness was an emotion he was unjustly close to. Magnus had often had its cold arms wrapped around him over the years; the dull ache of sadness keeping him company in his eternal curse.

Here was a group that was used to each other.

A group that was able to share secrets with each other and conquer the world.

It would be so easy to turn to hate. To hate _them_. As he studied them all, he realised this; that they could fuel his bitterness into a furious storm of rage.

But Magnus had never been one for hatred. He couldn’t make it last. No matter how hard he tried to keep it brewing, the anger always quietened into sadness, and then acceptance. It was a lonely life, but one he was used to.

Until now.

Even just spending the half day riding behind Isabelle had left Magnus changed.

He was so surprised at how accepting she had been.

The princess had offered to shake his hand, smiled at him, and even asked Magnus a few questions about his life as they rode.

Although the Accords had been made over fifteen years ago, it still felt like a hundred years had passed since that dreadful night. Since the battle that had changed the lives of his kind forever.

Magnus had found himself thinking of that night more and more recently. At the cruel irony of it all.

Of a mortal man causing so much bloodshed, and the outcome being to blame downworlders, disband warlock groups, and fear magic.

_It was such typical behaviour of them_ , Magnus thought, but they were thoughts overwhelmed by sorrow, not anger.

He had long since stopped being disappointed in the actions of mortals. It drained his energy, and his heart. Too many times had he considered mortals as friends, only to have them turn their backs and walk away as soon as the Accords were stricken.

Peaceful negotiations, they had been called. Terms of agreement between downworlders and mortals.

What they secretly were was a self-granted power for mortals to openly hunt anything they did not understand, or feared.

Which was why Magnus was so conflicted about the small group standing before him.

They were unlike any power-hungry knight he had imagined. They did not seem to be blindly led by hatred or fear, but by their bonds to each other.

Even Jace’s rude comments from earlier that day had been spoken from a place of protectiveness, for his prince, and friend.

It only took spending a few moments with them for Magnus to realise that Jace and Alec were family to each other. It was in their synchronised movements; the way they would look to one another for guidance, and the way that Alec’s shoulders relaxed whenever Jace piped in with a teasing remark.

Magnus turned his gaze towards Isabelle, who was setting up a large pot over the fire.

She was humming to herself happily as she began to boil the water.

Again, he was surprised. She definitely did not look like the kind of princess that Magnus was familiar with; the spoiled, wealthy ones who turned their noses down at others, or remained ignorant to their own privileges in the world. 

The princess Isabelle looked like a warrior.

In her riding gear, leather gauntlets, and long hair – which was now tied back with a purple ribbon – Isabelle looked like someone he would very much like to have beside him on a battlefield. Fierce energy burned in her eyes, waiting to be used.

He had seen energies like that before; belonging to passionate, adventurous souls.

When she glanced across at him, she beamed; her teeth a brilliant white under the low moonlight.

_Yes_ , Magnus thought. _Here is someone I’d like to call a friend. One day._

He froze, quickly looking away. His thoughts had begun to turn hopeful, and Magnus knew that there was nothing more dangerous in the world than false hope. He was not going to consider Isabelle a friend. Not now, or likely, ever.

She was mortal, and he was a downworlder.

Divides like that had broken Magnus’ heart too many times for him to try again so soon.

He stood on the edge of the small encampment, glancing around at the trees and straining his ears for any unwelcomed sounds that threatened their safety. Footsteps. Horse hooves. Animal cries. Anything that might attack a prince and his companions.

Even though he bore no royal colours or a crown, it only took a quick glance to realise Alec was an important person.

He was guarded by his knights – and friends, Magnus soon realised – with such vigour that he almost admired them. Almost. He liked their courage. Even if they were fools to even consider venturing through the Shadowlands, the knights had proven their loyalty to Alec simply by being here.

_And by being with me,_ Magnus thought, sadly.

He was still a little hurt that Jace had touched a nerve earlier. The topic of his immortality was something Magnus hated. He also hated that he was not used to it. Still, after so many years and losses, he was not ready to accept that being immortal was more of a curse than a gift.

If he thought about it too often, he was certain he would go mad.

And so he didn’t. He cast it from his thoughts and buried himself in work, and in visiting the few friends he had outside of the Shadowlands.

There was still downworlders who lived outside of the Shadowlands, but they often kept their gifts hidden. Some worked as merchants, or in the pleasure taverns where ale and wine often helped to erase their differences.

One of his oldest warlock friends, Ragnor, had kept busy by selling his potion skills to the Ashdowns, a wealthy mortal family who lived in the West, and the villages surrounding the area. He fluttered from place to place, living amongst mortals but never letting himself grow attached to any.

His heart, like Magnus’, understood loss in a way that mortals never could.

But perhaps that was an arrogant thought, Magnus realised. He knew that the youngest Lightwood boy had been murdered during Valentine’s battle. He looked at Alec and Isabelle and knew that they carried this loss with them, always.

And yet, they still made attempts to welcome him into their company.

How confusing it was to Magnus. How confusing _they_ were to him.

“Hey, I thought you might be hungry?”

Magnus was startled to see Isabelle suddenly standing before him. She took a seat on the grass and patted the space beside her.

“Come, sit and eat with me.” She said, kindly. “I have so many questions to ask you!”

She looked sheepish then, turning her head away from him. “And I’m sure you just want to be left alone-“

“No.” Magnus said, a little too quickly. He winced at his own eagerness. Slowly fanning his robes out as he sat down, Magnus graciously took the bowl of broth she offered him. He tried again. “What do you wish to ask, milady?”

“Please.” She snorted. The sound was so friendly and relaxed that Magnus couldn’t help but smile. “It’s just Isabelle. Or Izzy. Whichever you like best.”

Before he could thank her, Isabelle rushed on, excitedly. “Do you specialise in any magic? Is it true that warlocks can change the weather? What about elemental magic…”

She broke off, her cheeks flushed a lovely pink. “Sorry.” She mumbled, spooning some food into her mouth. “Mother always said I never knew when to be silent. I’m not a very good princess, am I?”

Magnus didn’t like the sudden change in her manner.

Isabelle had changed so quickly from an eager, charming young woman to an embarrassed child waiting to be scolded.

He reached out with a hand and carefully placed it on her shoulder.

She turned towards him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Isabelle.” He said quietly, smiling. “Curiosity is the first step towards change, you know.”

He waited for her to snap at him. To roll her eyes and scoff, ‘what change?’. Instead, Isabelle smiled warmly at him and nodded, a few strands of her hair coming undone.

“You’re the first warlock I’ve spoken you.” She admitted.

“And am I living up to your expectations?” He tilted his head at her and winked, gesturing to his colourful robes. “Or am I simply too beautiful for words?”

Isabelle threw her head back and laughed, the sound bouncing around the clearing and slipping into Magnus’ heart like an embrace. They ate together quietly. He told the princess about how some warlocks could control the weather, whereas others drew their powers from the elements. Some could even do both.

When she asked if he was one of those, Magnus ducked his head.

He was rarely humble, but he still wasn’t confident enough to boast to a group of mortals that he had more power in his pinkie finger than they had between all of them combined.

Instead, he shrugged and changed the subject. “What do you know of sorcerers?”

Isabelle frowned. “You mean warlocks, right?”

He shook his head, placing his now-empty bowl down on the grass. “Sorcerers and warlocks are very different. You should know this. Why do you not know this?”

He muttered the last part to himself as Isabelle had called out to the other knights that she would take the next watch. They were lounging around the fire as they finished their meal.

She stood, and he ignored the disappointment settling into his heart. He had enjoyed her presence and was sad to be, once again, alone.

But then she held out a gloved arm. “Come on.” Izzy nodded to the knights. “I think this conversation needs to be shared.”

Realising what she meant, Magnus stood and walked across the clearing with her. When they grew closer, the chatter died down. It was just a small change, but Magnus felt it unsettle his nerves. He hated being reminded that his differences were something to be afraid of. Something that his companions feared, and likely always would.

“Our guide has some information for us.” Isabelle declared.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

“Yes, you do.” She sat down and dragged Magnus down beside her, tugging on the long sleeve of his robe until he reluctantly joined the circle.

Alec was sitting directly opposite him, and through the embers of the fire, his hazel eyes shone brightly. Magnus gazed at them and wondered if there was magic in the prince’s colourful eyes. The alluring greens and browns filled Magnus with a warm feeling, one that he wanted very much to dismiss as coming from the fire’s heat, and so he quickly looked away.

“As you know, I am a warlock,” He began.

Before he could finish, Jace gasped. “What? Nobody told us.”

Aline’s eyes widened, but her smirk gave her away. “That’s it. I want to go home. We have all been betrayed! There is a warlock among us!”

“Hilarious.” Magnus said. He was tempted to use a silencing spell on them, just to wipe off the proud smirks off their faces, but then Alec gave a little laugh, and Magnus decided it didn’t matter too much.

“As I was saying,” He glared pointedly at Jace and Aline, who simply exchanged grins. “Warlocks use light magic. We draw upon the land to power our energies, and magic. We do not unwillingly drain the life force of another to create magic. Our magic is earned. We can drain ourselves, and even die from overusing our powers.”

There was silence around the camp as everyone listened intently.

He continued. “Now, there are also _sorcerers_. These are warlocks who have turned to dark magic. Evil magic.”

He winced. That word was tossed around so much, and he regretted using it. The distinction between good and evil was blurred every day.

But Magnus needed to help the knights understand, and so he carried on, slowly this time. “Dark magic calls upon harmful methods. It can drain a life and take their energy without consent. Dark magic can also open portals, which is how demons would often roam the lands long ago.”

“Demons?” Jace repeated. “Those are not just stories?”

When Magnus looked up, the knight was patiently waiting for an answer; his handsome face completely focused.

Magnus sighed. “Demons are real, yes, but you are also right. They have not been seen in the land for many, many years. They use up a great deal of energy, and often require multiple sorcerers to open portals between realms.”

“Are there many sorcerers?” Izzy asked.

“Some." Magnus admitted. "It is an alluring power, the darkness. Not just for warlocks, or downworlders, but for mortals too.”

Magnus surveyed the group, surprised at how carefully they were listening. He finished, “Everyone has weakness, and every weakness can be targeted.”

Alec was the first to speak. “And…there may be sorcerers living in the Shadowlands?” He asked. His voice was quiet, just audible over the quiet crackle of the flames.

Magnus leaned in closer, his cheeks warming to the flames. “Yes, Alexander. I wanted to warn you. All of you.” He added quickly. “Not all warlocks are as charming as I am. Unfortunately.”

Alec’s smile widened, but he did not speak. Magnus waited for him to add something, but the prince remained silent.

After a moment, Magnus glanced back at Isabelle. “Anything else you’d like me to share?”

Isabelle hesitated. Conflict twisted her smile into a grimace. Quietly, she asked, “Was it dark magic that Valentine used that night?”

If a leaf fell at that moment, Magnus was certain he would hear it.

The knights stilled at Izzy’s question.

The tension was unbearable, and he worried that whatever he said would be unwelcome to their ears.

He risked a glance at Alec. The prince was watching him, his hazel eyes widened. When he met Magnus’ stare, he nodded, just slightly, but it was enough for Magnus to bravely continue.

“Yes.” He finally replied. “Though no one knows how, Valentine was in league with at least a handful of sorcerers. Their dark magic granted incredible strength to his followers. To mortals. When he was exiled, some were caught and executed. Others managed to escape. They are likely in hiding.”

“They are alive?” Jace asked, his expression incredulous. His voice shook in anger. “They escaped justice?”

Alec placed a hand over his friend’s arm. “One day, Jace.” He murmured. “We will find them, and they will pay for taking Max’s life. We promised.”

Magnus looked away, feeling like an intruder on a private moment.

“Thank you, Magnus.”

He glanced back up and found Alec watching him. His hazel eyes were alive with unreadable emotions. Magnus felt their colours paint him in a strange, new light; as if he had discovered a new star in the sky. He couldn’t look away from Alec even if he wanted to.

And he really didn’t.

“Well, now that’s settled,” Isabelle stood, stretching and rolling her shoulders. “I’m going to relieve Helen from her post and take the next watch.” As she walked off into the shadows of the clearing, she waved. “Rest well, everyone.”

As if on cue, the rest of the knights disbanded from their circle around the fire.

Jace and Lydia stood at the same time, paused, and then headed in opposite directions towards their tents.

Alec stood, and the gold trimming around his tunic caught the light again. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and Magnus waited. He was good at that; the waiting. He had often found that memories were made from patience.

And then Alec looked down at his feet, glanced back up and quietly said, “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Magnus blinked in surprise.

A blush burned into Alec’s cheeks. “With us, I mean.” He corrected. “I, uh, I’m glad you joined the quest. That’s all.”

Wanting to save the other man from himself, Magnus nodded and smiled. “So am I, Alexander.”

He thought he had understood that Alec was shy. Even though it had surprised Magnus at first, he was beginning to realise that the prince was an open book in a sense that every page was blurry; it took careful reading to properly understand.

And even more surprisingly, Magnus wanted to.

He wanted to try and get a proper reading of the man who would one day be his king.

He was also trying to work out if Alec’s blush was from the heat of the fire, or something else. Was it evidence of his embarrassment, or something hidden?

Realising he was staring, Magnus pretended to stretch, lifting his arms above his head. “Well, I think we should retire for the night.” He yawned, and it was only half pretend. “Sleep well, Your Highness.”

Alec had taken a step back, slightly dimmed by the shadowy night now. His eyes were still bright, however, and Magnus once again found them gazing across at him. It wasn’t fear, or even simply curiosity, but it made Magnus ache. But what he ached for remained uncertain. For now, he turned and found the tent that Izzy had pointed out to him earlier.

For now, Magnus would sleep.

A part of him knew that his dreams would turn into nightmare images of graves.

In his dreams, he would stand in a circle of graves, alone, and weep.

He ignored the reminder that his nightmares would one day become his truth.

Death and loneliness would be Magnus' future.

~

When Alec came to switch places with her, Isabelle thanked him with a quick hug and headed inside her tent.

She wrapped herself in furs and fell asleep within a few moments.

Just as it had been for years now, Isabelle felt a familiar dream settle inside her.

It greeted her like an old friend, tugging her into its pull and making her feel strangely awake. She was so aware of this dream; always so aware.

“Hello.” She whispered to the dream.

The dream whispered back, but she could not make out the words. She could make out the emotions.

It felt…trapped. The dream was like a bird caught in a cage; like a prisoner awaiting torture. Isabelle longed to free it, but she could never fully see the shape of the dream. All she could catch was colours and glimpses.

The vibrant orange-red always stood out to her. It was such a clear colour, always imprinted into her mind like it was her first ever memory. Isabelle wrapped its bright energy around her and relaxed.

And then; a cord.

Tonight, it was pulled tight; as though someone on the other end was inviting her to hold on and follow its path.

“Is anyone there?” She tried to call out, but her dream voice was a whisper that was drowned out by the strange cries echoing in her mind. Or was it someone else’s mind, covering up the conversation?

_“Help me.”_

Isabelle’s mind focused so sharply on the voice that she felt her body shudder.

She tried to pinpoint the location of the voice. It was definitely a voice, she realised then. But the words had whispered not only around her, but inside her; as if the beggar was tugging at her heartstrings.

“I’m here!” She tried to sooth the voice, but once again, it drowned itself out.

Suddenly, a hand appeared in her vision.

A flash of smooth, white skin and bloodstained fingertips.

Another flash of vibrant red.

A sleeping figure.

Isabelle felt her body shake even more violently as she tried to reach out with her mind, and her dream self.

_“Help me find me help me find me help me-“_

The voice reverted through her skull with a piercing cry.

~

Isabelle sat up, sweat-soaked and shaking.

Her limbs shook long after the dream had ended, and she felt even more exhausted than before.

Why had she been haunted by these dreams for so long now?

Until now, she had firmly believed it was from her guilt at surviving. While she had been happily riding with Alec, her younger brother had been brutally killed. Surely her dreams were a nightmare of survivor’s guilt?

_Why am I now so unsure that’s the truth?_

~

For the entire morning that followed, Alec rode slightly to the right, and behind, of Magnus.

He wanted to ride beside him, but something told him to keep his distance.

He still needed to focus and keep his knights in good spirits, and it was too easy for the prince to get lost in the mystery that was Magnus Bane.

He was not just a warlock, Alec was beginning to realise. He was not just filled with demon blood and powerful magic. Magnus was half human too. He shared the abilities to laugh and joke and tease and smile. He was not something to admire and gaze at like a foreign object, and Alec feared he had unsettled the warlock with his helpless stares.

But he reminded himself that Magnus was likely examining him in the same way. Why would he not? Alec was a prince of mortals, and had invited him, a warlock – and downworlder – to join their quest. It was a surprising move, and one that he knew Magnus likely feared was a sort of trap.

He only hoped that Magnus would stay with him, and his knights, long enough to see past the prejudices they had been brought up into.

_But that doesn’t make it forgivable,_ Alec told himself.

It was one thing to create peace. It was another to accept the blame for destroying it.

How much had Alec been responsible for already? He had been a child when the Accords were made, but he had the power to change things now, and yet he had not lifted a finger or challenged a single rule.

The loyalty that burned in Alec’s blood like a fire suddenly flared in warning.

It clawed at him in vicious reminder.

His parents had prevented more bloodshed. They had defeated Valentine. Even if they were wrong to assume all downworlders were to be feared, there was still far too much that Alec had to be grateful to them for. He had been taught to fight; to defend himself, and others. He had been educated.

_Really?_ He rolled his eyes. _Banning books and knowledge is education?_

This fight with himself had been raging for a while now, but having Magnus in their company had only made it worse.

Alec’s heart, head and soul was at war, and they were headed into the Shadowlands; a place where anything was possible.

He only hoped that he could put his own confusion aside to protect his knights, and Magnus. He would retrieve the Cup, return unharmed, and slowly begin to challenge the divides that the Accords had unintentionally created.

And Alec had to believe that. He had to believe that the Laws were just, even if they had created harmful prejudices.

“We’re almost there.” Magnus called out against the wind.

Alec shook the rest of his thoughts away and forced himself to meet Magnus’ stride.

The prince had insisted that Izzy ride with him today, and that the warlock could ride on his own. His sister looked exhausted, and he wanted her close by.

He had hoped that Magnus would look pleased – surely he did not feel comfortable sharing with a mortal – but the warlock had looked hurt. Just for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by a quick smile. He had nodded, swung up onto the horse, and rode quietly for the rest of the morning.

Until now.

Ahead of them, a strange glimmer caught Alec’s eye. It was like water; shimmering under the light, but not quite visible. The sight was like a fish that kept slipping from his hands.

He heard Magnus chuckle. “Don’t waste your energy, Your Highness.” He smirked. “Fairy magic is stronger than you.”

“Oh.”

Alec realised then why he had struggled to focus on the shimmering object. It wasn’t meant to be seen. He had been trying to peer through a spell of some kind.

“Is it like the one on your tower?”

Magnus turned to him, surprised. “Not quite, but I appreciate the comparison.”

Alec tried to wipe the proud smile away, but he couldn’t erase it completely.

It had taken him all of last night to work it out after all. He had been thinking about how the tower had seemed to change appearance, and then why had it? He had come to the conclusion that Magnus had cast a spell on it to glamour the true tower, and whatever it really looked like.

Watching the prince’s expression grow distance, Magnus looked amused now. “If it is any consolation, Alexander, I’m thinking about planting a very large tree now. Your vision was rather lovely.”

Alec hid his laugh and ducked his head behind Izzy’s shoulder. Her own shoulders were shaking as she laughed, and he caught Magnus’ happy smile before he turned back to the approaching shimmer.

“So what is that?” Jace asked, his eyes narrowed as he stared ahead.

Magnus tapped his feet against Isabelle’s horse, slowing it carefully so that the others could hear his reply. “It’s a bridge.” He replied.

“A bridge?” Aline snorted. Her hair was loose today, and flew back like a flag of victory.

Beside her, Helen was studying the spell, but she looked at Magnus for an answer.

“A fairy bridge.” Magnus explained. “It’s the quickest way into the Shadowlands.” He cleared his throat, and Alec watched as he hesitated. “But it comes with a teeny, tiny price.”

“What sort of price?” Jace demanded. He glanced at Alec, his expression worried. “We’re not prepared to go down without a fight.”

“Mortals.” Magnus muttered, annoyed. “Always ready for spilling blood before you’ve even heard the terms.” He stared at Jace pointedly and waited for him to retort.

Alec prayed that he wouldn’t. He was also taken aback by Magnus’ words, but they had already ridden this far. It seemed insulting to everyone to turn back without hearing the warlock out.

“Tell us.” Izzy said, leaning to the left so that from behind her, Alec could see the rest of the group settling into a circle. He waited.

Magnus tapped a fingernail against his chin. “How do I explain this in simple terms? The bridge requires a certain truth before anyone can pass. That’s all. A truth. From each person who crosses over.”

“Any truth? Or something in particular?” Lydia asked, and Alec wanted to thank her for her logic. He had been trying to find the right words himself. She grimaced. “Forgive me, but it sounds rather vague.”

Magnus didn’t look too offended. He simply shrugged. “The truth changes. Whoever is guarding the bridge for today will decide. The last time I crossed, I was asked for the name of the one I loved the most. A friend of mine was asked to describe her greatest fear. It changes.” He lifted his chin. “I’m sorry, but it is the quickest way in. As your guide, I recommend it.”

Magnus glanced around at the circle before him. Alec’s breath caught as Magnus’ golden catlike eyes slowly reappeared. They glowed brightly as he asked, “Are you all so afraid of the truth?”

Izzy was the first to speak up. “I’m in.”

One by one, the knights slowly nodded. Six heads turned to the prince, waiting for his answer.

Alec ignored the sound of his heart pounding away in fear. What truths did he have hidden, deep inside? Was there anything buried within that could threaten all he held dear? Would anyone in his circle of friends and family look differently at him because of what the bridge demanded?

He glanced at Magnus, who was watching him quietly; his golden eyes still shimmering. Magnus tilted his head, studying him.

Unlike the others, when Magnus watched him, his gaze felt like an invitation; a two-way connection. Everyone else was waiting for his answer, but Magnus was asking him to listen, as well as speak. He wanted Alec to know he was there.

Alec looked away. He then felt Izzy shift in her seat and turn to face him.

His sister squeezed his hand and smiled. “I think this is the right way, Alec. I understand that you’re afraid. So am I.”

“Liar.” He said affectionately. “You’re not afraid of anything, Izzy.”

“I am. I’m afraid of losing you.”

The vulnerability in her voice made his heart constrict. It was an honesty that Isabelle had no shame in, and he wished with all his might that the truth was so easy for him to share; that his feelings were easy to show.

Alec fought back tears and simply squeezed back, holding Isabelle’s hand in his. Using her support as strength, he turned back to the group and managed to nod. “Then we are decided.” He looked at Magnus. “And in your hands, it seems.”

Magnus smiled. It was a small smile, but a gentle one, and when he spoke, it felt like a song someone would use to lull a distraught child to sleep with. “The truth is not something to be afraid of, Alec. It can set you free.”

And at that, Magnus turned and began to ride ahead; the rest of the knights, and Alec, following on.

~

The bridge came into view a little while later.

Alec also realised how close they were to the Shadowlands.

Had it been so close before?

“The forest has its own magic.” Magnus said from where he rode beside him, as if he could read his thoughts. “It conceals the Shadowlands until riders are closer. It likes to keep away those who might wander inside accidentally.”

Alec nodded in reply.

The bridge was large, but what captivated the prince the most was the archway in the centre of it.

It was tall and narrow, and the inside shimmered; almost like it was a mirror. The bridge itself was narrow, and stretched on with long, wooden planks that were held by strong-looking vines. Flowers of all colours grew not only along the vines, but into the flooring and even the mirror. They were a part of the bridge itself, alive with colour.

Up close, it shimmered even more clearly, and Alec had to focus on it with all his strength. Still, it kept blinking in and out of existence. Magnus had warned him that until they were greeted by the bridge’s keeper, it would not fully appear to them, but Alec was stubborn and kept trying.

When they were a short distance from it, Magnus halted them. “Best to walk on foot from here. We will seem more…approachable.”

Jace dismounted with a grin. “Are you saying we can’t get through on our good looks?” He asked.

Magnus’ lips twitched. “Afraid so.”

Aline and Helen quickly slid down from their horses, walking alongside Jace and Lydia. Alec and Isabelle then dismounted, beside Magnus. The three of them led the others over the last field and up over the hill towards the bridge.

A shape began to take form at the foot of the bridge.

Soon, the shape became a figure. A man with shoulder-length, dark hair, and eyes rimmed in a shimmering pale blue. He narrowed them at the group.

Magnus smoothly took the lead, stepping in front of the others and clearing his throat. He spoke then, and his words were a language that Alec instantly recognised.

_Fae._

Alec secretly translated their words.

“I am Magnus Bane, warlock of Idris. It is with the greatest respect that I ask to be tested for the right to pass through.” Magnus lowered himself into a low bow and hesitated before adding, “Alongside my…companions, that is.”

The man glanced at their group then, and when he caught sight of Isabelle, Alec was surprised to see a look of recognition pass over his handsome face. The faerie was handsome in a gentle way. Even though his expression was hardened with tension, his full lips and long hair gave him the air of something ancient and gentle.

“Meliorn?” Isabelle asked. Alec watched as his sister took a tentative step forwards, closer to the faerie. Her smile then widened. “It is you!”

The man’s smile grew tender as he met her halfway for a friendly embrace. He hugged her tightly, and Alec glanced away. There was a look in his eyes that he didn’t need to understand. Not one directed towards his sister anyway.

The faerie pulled back, still holding Izzy’s arms out. His gaze caught the silver whip coiled around her arm and he smiled with pleasure. “You still have my gift.” He said, stroking the weapon and gazing up at Izzy fondly.

She nodded. “Of course. It is my most treasured possession.” Her smile turned playful. “Besides my armoured boots.”

Meliorn’s expression was still soft as he turned back to Magnus. In the mortal tongue, he spoke. “You have chosen at least one of your mortal companions well.” He told Magnus, and the warlock hesitated before smiling.

Leading them closer to the bridge, Meliorn turned towards them and slowly ran his eyes over the knights. He smiled when he glanced at Izzy. “Are you all willing to submit to the question I ask of you?”

They all nodded.

“One at a time then.” His next words were addressed to Alec. “You are the leader of this quest?”

It took a moment for Alec to nod. The magic pull of the bridge was still playing with his senses, and he felt off balance as he walked. His legs trembled like a new-born babe.

“Then you must also hear everyone’s answer.”

Alec froze.

“What happens if we refuse?” Helen suddenly asked.

Alec was surprised. She hadn’t spoken much since they set out, and when he glanced at her, she looked so afraid that he was tempted to pull her aside and ask if something was wrong. Her face was pale with fear.

Meliorn did not notice anything. Or if he did, he did not care to press the issue. He simply looked at her and replied, “Then I will decide if you may pass. Only with my permission may you pass through the arch.”

When none of the others protested, Meliorn turned to Alec. “Are you ready to begin?”

Alec swallowed back his fear and nodded.

They would get this truth nonsense over with, and then they would be into the Shadowlands. It was so close now; just over the bridge and they would arrive.

_A simple question should not cause so much fear, surely._

But the unknown nature of it frightened Alec.

What would he, and his knights be asked? From his research, he knew that the faeries – or sometimes known as fae, or fae folk – were cunning and enjoyed playing dangerous games with questions.

Halfway onto the bridge, Meliorn paused. The archway gleamed with magic, whispering sounds that were a hybrid of song and war cries. They were whispers of a language Alec did not know, and when Meliorn leaned closer to it and pressed his ear towards the centre, Alec heard – no, felt – it whisper back a question.

Meliorn nodded to himself. “Call your first companion.” His voice was deep and quiet as he instructed the prince. “The one you carry in your heart, always.”

Alec called for Isabelle without hesitation.

As she carefully led her horse over the bridge, to meet him and Meliorn by the archway, her expression suddenly lost all of its confidence. She hesitated and then threw her shoulders back, masking the fear.

“Isabelle Lightwood,” Meliorn asked. “Why are you on this quest?”

Alec hid his small sigh of relief. Whatever question he had feared to hear would remain unspoken.

A smile of encouragement swept onto his face. “Go on, Izzy.” Alec said softly.

“I seek an adventure.” Izzy said. “My soul yearns for it.” She exhaled, the lines of her forehead creasing.

“And?” Meliorn prompted.

“And,” Izzy said, glancing anxiously at Alec. “I wish to protect my brother. I am afraid for him."

“Thank you, Isabelle. You have spoken truthfully and you may pass, with your brother’s consent.”

Swallowing back tears, Alec nodded. He resisted the urge to pull her into a tight hug. How he had wanted to always protect her, and now here Izzy was, riding into danger not only for herself, but in her desires to keep an eye on him.

As she stepped through the archway, Alec watched as the shimmering magic glowed brighter for a few moments, and then faded once more. On the other side, Izzy shot him a quick grin.

She was okay.

Alec released his breath.

He didn’t have much time to relax because Meliorn spoke soon after. “Call your second companion. Your brother by something stronger than blood.”

Alec called for Jace, again; without pausing. This was a truth he could bear easily.

The knowledge that their bond was stronger than blood held its own kind of magic, and Alec relaxed as Jace smirked. “Ready when you are.” His friend joked.

“Do you believe that Alec is ready to become king?”

A look of surprise, and then fear, overwhelmed his friend.

Jace glanced at his horse.

For the first time in a long time, Alec watched as his closest friend refused to meet his eyes.

Jace finally glanced at Meliorn and quietly said, “Not yet.”

Jace looked at Alec, the guilt written clearly on his face, but Alec simply nodded, reaching out to clasp his friend’s forearm as he passed. He hoped that would be enough to comfort him. They could talk properly afterwards.

Truthfully, Alec was not surprised. Or disappointed. Jace’s faith in him as a friend was unwavering. As a king, however, he had cause to doubt Alec’s skills. He was hesitant and did not believe in himself as a king should. He was not angry with Jace for voicing a truth that he himself felt.

As Jace walked through the archway, Alec frowned at the faerie. “Why did you ask him something different?” Anger crept into his voice. “Are you trying to disband us?”

“No.” Meliorn’s voice was calm. “The question is to reveal a truth you have kept hidden. Something you must face. It is created by looking into each person’s soul. It is not by our design, but by yours.” He explained. “Your sister is afraid for you. Your friend was ashamed at his lack of faith.”

Alec felt fear lace his next question. “Will anyone hear my answer?”

Meliorn shook his head. “No. But I would advise you to let another hear it. For your sake, and for theirs.” He gestured to both ends of the bridge, where his knights stood on the two sides.

Before Alec could reply, Meliorn turned to the archway and nodded again. “Call your third companion. Someone who would understand you when others cannot.”

Again, that was one easy.

He waited for Lydia to reach the centre. She looked determined, and Alec was relieved when Meliorn repeated the first question for her;

“Why are you on this quest, Lydia Branwell?”

Lydia thought for a moment, weighing them carefully. She then answered; her voice ringing clearly and loudly. “I wish to prove myself as a knight, and as a woman.” Her expression softened. “And to protect those I love.”

She passed through the archway and joined Jace and Isabelle on the other side.

Three more to go.

Meliorn leaned into the magic wisps again, the white shimmers coiling like ribbons inside the archway. When he leaned back, there was a hint of confusion in his brow. He spoke, and all traces of hesitation were gone before Alec could question it.

“Call your fourth, and fifth, companions.”

And that was it.

“No cryptic clue this time?” Alec said dryly.

When Meliorn didn’t reply, the prince turned back to those left waiting before the bridge. There was Magnus, Helen and Aline.

It was easy to assume the two who came as a pair, and so he called for the two women with a small smile.

Aline skipped up to them, whereas Helen hung back slightly. She was taller where Aline was slight; fair and elegant where Aline was darker and eager to get her hands dirty. But as they stood side by side, Alec thought it was clear why Meliorn had called for the both of them. They had grown together, and learned how to survive together. Their bond, like Alec and Jace’s and Isabelle’s, was unbreakable.

Or was it?

For a slight pause, Meliorn turned back towards the archway, as though asking it to reconsider.

When it did not, the faerie turned to the two women and quietly asked, “Aline Penhallow, who are you questing for?”

“Myself.” Aline was the first to admit. She glanced at Alec with a slight grin. “And the prince. But mainly for myself.”

Alec found her happiness refreshing. He had always compared her to a flame; warm and yet dangerous if needed be. She was admirable in her honesty, and he inclined his head in gratitude.

And then Meliorn looked back at Helen and asked, “What is your greatest fear, Helen Blackthorn?”

Alec watched as Helen’s face paled. Her expression turned to one of overwhelmed horror, and she looked ready to turn and run. “I…”

Just when he was about to step forwards, or ask if another question could be asked instead, Meliorn spoke first. “Helen, you must answer truthfully.” His voice was gentler than Alec had expected. “I understand your fears, but even a half truth is better than no truth.”

Aline stepped forwards to pass through the archway, but Meliorn held her back. “You must hear this too.”

Aline frowned, and when she met Helen’s eyes, the other woman looked away. She bit her lip and then suddenly seemed to find her resolve. Her fair hair blew in the breeze, whipping around her face and into her eyes like tiny cuts.

Helen stared straight ahead, not at the prince, or her friend, or even the strange faerie, but at the forest. At the Shadowlands.

“I am afraid of discovering who I am. And I am afraid that my loved ones will forever fear me when they discover it too.”

Meliorn lowered his arm and stepped to the side, letting both of them pass through the archway.

As he did, Alec’s brow furrowed in confusion.

What had Helen meant? Was she afraid that her peasantry heritage made her unworthy? Or was there desire hidden inside her heart like Alec? He worried then that there was something he was missing. Something important.

How Helen had glanced towards the Shadowlands was important, but Alec didn’t know why.

Cutting off his thoughts, Meliorn gestured to the final, lone figure waiting. The warlock’s deep red robes shimmered under the setting sun, almost like the magic of the bridge’s archway.

“Call to your final companion.” Meliorn invited. There was a weight to his next words that sent shivers along Alec's arms. “The one who awakens you.”

Alec heard himself gasp.

Meliorn did not speak again. He simply waited.

Alec, on the other hand, needed time to process the faerie’s words.

What had he meant that Magnus awakened him? And what was it exactly that the warlock was awakening? Alec's infuriating habit of fumbling over words? His inability to hold a conversation without looking away first?

Alec shoved other thoughts aside; thoughts of desire and flushed cheeks and confessions he was definitely not ready to even contemplate. He reminded himself that faeries enjoyed playing games. This was likely another one, crafted to unsettle him and challenge him to turn back in fear.

He would not be frightened by a few words.

_Not when no one else was around to hear them,_ Alec secretly thought. He gestured with his hand for Magnus to step onto the bridge, and waited for him to reach them in the centre. When he did, the warlock’s smile suddenly unnerved him. Alec shuffled his feet and waited with held breath for Meliorn’s final question.

“What is the purpose of you joining this quest, Magnus Bane?”

Alec fought back a sigh of relief. He prayed to whatever Angel or creature that was listening. The question had been a simple one, again, and the warlock would answer with what he had asked Alec for; jewels. Payment. It was a simple confession, and Alec would nod him through happily.

Therefore he was surprised when Magnus did not speak right away.

A puzzling expression mixed with the warlock’s usual tension, and Alec found his confidence begin to fade with each passing moment.

“Curiosity, I suppose.” Magnus said, keeping his voice airy. There was a wall he was hiding behind, and his words felt like concealed truths. Not lies, but certainly limited in their detail, but Alec knew he would not hesitate to accept them.

Magnus continued to speak. “I have felt a change in the air, and I think…I need to be a part of it.” He said, not arrogantly. And then he smirked, winking at Alec. “I also wanted to come along for the pretty prince.”

Alec hoped his cheeks were not turning a red deeper than the warlock’s robes. He hoped they were a normal colour; a colour that showed how unaffected he was by Magnus’ teasing remark.

_Now who is lying?_

Meliorn stepped aside, letting the warlock begin to lead his horse through the archway.

Just before he stepped through, Magnus quietly added, so that only Alec could hear, “I have sensed a change in the air. And then you came along.” His expression was soft, his voice a vulnerable confession. “I cannot help but feel that our paths are connected, and so I am here to chase that path, Alexander.”

Just before he disappeared onto the other side of the bridge, Meliorn caught the warlock by the arm. The faerie glanced at Alec, inclined his head respectfully and said, “Do you recall my words from earlier? This will be your final chance.”

Another wave of fear came over the prince. He remembered with painful clarity.

_“I would advise you to let another hear it. For your sake, and for theirs.”_

Alec looked at Magnus and asked himself one question.

Was he willing to let Magnus hear whatever secret truth was asked of him?

_He just did it for you._

Alec was suddenly surprised by this thought. Here he was, questioning whether or not to trust Magnus with his truth, and the warlock had revealed his without any hesitation. None like his anyway.

He felt guilty then, and wanted to repay the favour.

Magnus was one of his companions on a dangerous quest. If Alec didn’t learn to trust him, then all hope was lost before they entered.

A group without trust was a group destined to fail.

With his body angled halfway between Magnus and Meliorn, Alec nodded at the faerie. “Be done with it then.” He said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Alec, you do not have to-“

Meliorn held out a hand, cutting off the warlock. “I’m sorry. It’s already been decided. Please be silent now.”

Magnus obeyed, but Alec could feel his eyes on him like a private embrace. He didn’t know whether he felt less afraid, or more.

 “Who do you blame for your brother’s death, Alexander Lightwood?”

The air seemed to disappear around Alec.

He tried to focus his breathing, but it was like someone was strangling him from every side. His words felt constricted. Once again he was trapped by something he could not escape. Alec felt a wave of furious, white-hot anger envelop him then, and he used it to overcome the sudden rush of fear.

Whatever question Alec had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that one, and he was so afraid to even think about why is answer came so easily.

“Myself.” He said, his voice hoarse.

Behind him, he felt Magnus shift slightly. Though he did not speak, the warlock’s silence was loud.

Although the tightness in his throat relaxed, there was still tension in the air. The magic whispered in a quiet encouragement, until Alec realised what it was waiting for.

He had not spoken the entire truth.

“Myself,” He began again. He wanted to look at Magnus as he finished, but he felt rooted to the bridge; rooted by the dark twists of guilt and anger. If only he had more courage, he could whisper the next words, so that Magnus would not hear them.

Alec wished he could pass through without another word. 

But he had to. The bridge required more of the truth than he had offered and Alec would not abandon his knights.

Alec squared his shoulders. He closed his eyes, hiding behind the blackness. “Myself…and magic.”

He had never hated himself before now.

He had never felt the true extent of the prejudices of the world.

The divide between downworlders and mortals seemed to stretch, making the bridge wider, and making the distance between Alec and Magnus grow.

But the truth was out now, and Alec hoped with all his might that Meliorn’s words had not been a cruel trick.

And that the truth could lead them into a better, united future.

If only Alec was brave enough to face his own truths.

_Not just face them, but correct them_ , he realised _. Just because something was true didn’t make it fair, or just._

Magnus turned, just a fraction, towards the archway, and before he realised what he was doing, Alec had followed his movements and reached for his arm. His fingers closed around the sleeve of the warlock’s robe; the soft material slipping between his fingertips like unspoken words.

Magnus looked up, and his eyes were like fire; golden, furious and pained.

Alec flinched back. Hurt welled inside him, pushing away the guilt. He ought to bottle it up, like always, but the prince was so lost in his loathing – both towards the world and himself – that he let his feet lead him closer to Magnus.

He stopped just in front of the warlock.

They stood so close that Alec could feel the heat of his breath and see the tiny flecks of orange swirling amidst the warlock’s wide eyes.

“I do not blame _you_.” Alec pleaded for him the understand, not quite knowing why it was so important.

But it was.

Whether or not he knew why, Alec was sure that Magnus needed to hear this.

Perhaps it was still a part of the answer to Meliorn’s question.

_Yes,_ Alec quickly told himself. _I have to say this._

He ignored the fear and pushed on, his hand still closed around Magnus’ arm, keeping him close. “I do not hate you.” He said fiercely. “Or downworlders.”

Magnus’ eyes slowly shifted back to a mundane green, and Alec was saddened by the loss of colour. He had not asked him to hide his true nature, and yet with Alec’s confession, Magnus had clearly felt ashamed.

Magnus smiled, and it was a sad smile that clawed at Alec’s heart. “I really do want to believe you, Alec.” Magnus said, softly. And then his expression turned cold. It was not an angry look, but one so vacant and without emotion that it frightened Alec.

The warlock’s walls were back up as he said, “But you blame us for the actions of a mortal man. Why am I any different?”

As Magnus turned away from him, tugging out of the prince’s grasp, Alec realised he was wrong. So painfully wrong.

Though he had spoken truthfully, he was wrong to blame magic.

Magnus had been right. Valentine was the man behind it all. Like the foolish people he had once scoffed at, Alec had slipped into the trap of blaming magic. He had blamed the gifts of warlocks instead of the dark sorcerers and the man who organised the massacre.

When Magnus walked through the arch, Alec didn’t stop him. He let him go.

Meliorn’s voice was almost apologetic when he spoke. “You may pass through now, Alec. And I do still believe in what I said to you.”

The faerie's voice softened. “The truth will guide you. When everything is out in the open, trust only grow stronger. It is the downfall of mortals; to fear truth so much that it decays inside your heart. It dissolves the bonds between loved ones and causes people to hate and to blame.”

The faerie shifted his body towards the forest that now awaited Alec and his knights. "Whatever your quest is, the Shadowlands needs your help. It needs you, and your companions. And…you need each other. You are stronger together.”

Alec didn’t have it in him to be angered. The faerie’s words were oddly comforting, and he bowed respectfully to him.

Meliorn’s expression turned to one of surprise, but he bowed to the prince in return. “I wish you good fortune, Alec of Idris.”

When he passed through the archway, tingles of magic spread across Alec’s skin, and when he stepped onto the other side, he instantly missed it.

And then he realised how right Meliorn had been. Now that he had faced a part of him that he didn’t like, Alec was less afraid to be truthful. He could admit to the dark parts inside him that needed to be changed.

Perhaps this was a new beginning.

But he had lost Magnus’ trust, and that scared Alec the most.

He looked around at his group. Some looked less fazed than others, and he hoped that the ones who were still a little shaken would soon refocus again. They had made it. They were here, on the outskirts of the Shadowlands.

“Let the quest begin.” Alec heard himself say.

The rest of his knights formed a nervous group around him.

Only Magnus stood to the side, waiting.

He glanced at Alec, his eyes narrowed as he looked to the Shadowlands. He stood defensively, with his arms slightly raised; as if prepared to defend himself at any moment.

Alec’s hand rested on the small dagger in his belt.

A spark of magic appeared in Magnus' outstretched hands. His eyes widened as he turned to the prince. “Something is wrong, Alexander.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! What's up with the Shadowlands already??!  
> Let me know what you thought of the bridge and the questions!   
> What do you think Helen is hiding? Also, who is haunting Isabelle's dreams?  
> Come find me on 'swans-hooks-and-books' on tumblr if you want to chat :))


	4. The Caves of Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> Thank you so much for all your kind words and kudos; they mean so much!! <3  
> Happy reading! xxxx

“ _You_ ask him.”

“Why don’t you?”

Alec couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to his two friends and hissed, “Oh, in the name of all that is holy, would you two be _quiet?_ ”

“Alright.” Jace mumbled, kicking at a loose stone on the pathway. He had dismounted his horse a little while before, needing to stretch his legs. “ _You_ ask then, _Your Highness_.”

Beside him, Aline nodded.

Alec rolled his eyes and ignored the pair.

After a few moments, they took the hint; falling back in line with Lydia, Isabelle and Helen.

Although they were all quiet, his knights flanked him protectively and took turns to glance around the forest and venture out. He had warned them against straying from the path, and they obeyed; but Alec knew that Helen and Jace in particular were still unsteady after the bridge’s questions.

He had tried to speak to Jace before they entered. He’d wanted to say that he understood, and that Jace had nothing to fear or feel guilt over. His friend had his trust and respect, always.

It pained Alec to think that Jace might be pulling away from him. What would he be without Jace?

A prince without his right-hand man was not a prince at all.

Tearing his thoughts away from his best friend, Alec turned them towards the warlock currently pacing the road ahead. He was riding a short distance away from them, frozen in a state of caution.

Blue sparks had danced up in Magnus’ hands ever since they crossed the bridge, and since then, Alec had not seen them fade or even so much as flicker.

As soon as he’d spoken earlier, the knights had all drawn their swords; turning to face the outskirts of the Shadowlands.

They had waited for something to jump out; for an army of terrifying creatures to ambush them. When only quiet sounds - like trees brushing against the wind – greeted them, Alec had frowned. He had turned to the warlock and asked, “What is it?”

Magnus’ expression had been worried before, but now it was vacant. Forcefully casual. He took a few steps into the forest and waved a hand to the group. “Never mind. Be on your guard, and follow me.”

And now, a while later, Alec and his knights were carefully following the unnerved warlock as he led them through the forest.

The Shadowlands was indeed a forest, but so much more.

They had stepped in through a small clearing, where trees with all kinds of fruits had encircled the field. Tall grass tickled against them as they led their horses around the edge, and Alec was surprised when the grass changed colours beneath his fingertips. He leaned down from his perch, reaching.

He watched, awed, as the soft grass turned from soft lilac to deep blue to a soft murky, sea-green. Tingling sensations – that he had come to realise was magic – tickled his hands and ran along his arms. It had reached Alec's neck when he suddenly pulled back, aware that Magnus was watching him with narrowed eyes. The warlock quickly turned away, but Alec had seen the warning in his eyes.

_This is not your home_ , Alec reminded himself. _Be respectful._

He wanted to ask Magnus about the clearing, but the weight of his revelation had seemed to cause a shift; a tear which he could not yet mend. Alec wanted to mend it. He really did. But as he led his knights around the edge of the clearing, ears picking up the strange cries from unknown creatures, Alec was soon distracted.

He followed Magnus, alongside the others, for a short while, until they passed the clearing and entered a long stretch of woodland.

It struck him, as it probably struck his friends too, how…normal the Shadowlands was.

The woodlands that Magnus led them through was a decent size, but Alec and his companions were left alone.

They, also, did not pass anything that resembled a home of sorts.

But, Alec reminded himself, they were still very close to the outskirts; near to the mortal land. It made sense that downworlders would not risk living so close to those who had turned to such strong fear and hatred.

The stretch of woodlands they now quietly rode through was covered with tall trees and soft moss. Mushrooms and flowers lined their path, and the faint sounds of birds and small cries echoed over their heads.

They rode until the sun nearly dipped below the trees.

Soft shadows fell as they rode, and Alec slowly began to become aware of the changes in the forest. His sense prickled, both anxious and curious. Shapes that he’d assumed were rocks would shift. Small flecks of moss on the barks of trees would suddenly disappear, or hover in the air and return to their place on the tree.

_Fae folk_.

The forest, slowly, and elegantly, became alive. A ring of flowers lifted, to reveal a small creature that Alec assumed was a faerie. It was human-like, but pale green, and it cocked its head at them before grinning and dashing off into the air; a pair of glowing wings flicking out.

Magnus patted the head of his horse, slowing it until he was closer to the group. “This is a woodland that belongs to the Faerielands. You will not harmed, I promise.” He said quietly. “Ride slowly and do not pay them much attention.”

And then, without another word, he turned back around and followed the path.

Alec opened his mouth, considering whether or not he should catch up with the warlock and make amends. But surely he had already apologised? He knew now that he was wrong to blame magic for Max’s death. Meliorn’s advice had sung true; his confession was bearable if it could change things for the better. Alec had hoped that it would bring the group closer together, as both friends and questers.

But the warlock was strangely quiet. No longer would he tease Alec, or make dry remarks at Jace’s quips. He simply led them on through the woodlands, his back rigid and his head held high.

Alec felt shame creep into his thoughts. He had agreed to this quest to encourage peace, not to sever the divide between downworlders and mortals even more.

He hoped that Magnus would let him have another chance.

Jace cleared his throat. “So.” He said, happily. “How long till we see a unicorn?”

Aline laughed. “Jace, you _know_ those aren’t real.”

“Neither are demon, but our guide said otherwise.”

“Good point.”

Jace smiled across at Lydia, who was watching them quietly. “What would you like to see?” He asked her, his eyes crinkled with laughter. There was a sudden softness to his expression as he waited for Lydia to answer.

She shrugged, an unusually careless gesture for someone who – like Alec – often kept themselves to the logical parts of their minds. A small smile played at the corners of her lips. “Perhaps…” She looked at Jace hopefully. “A dragon?”

Jace looked delighted. “A dragon! Yes! Why didn’t I think of that?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and grinning across at Lydia. “Then that’s what we will do before we leave. See a unicorn and a dragon.”

“And retrieve the Cup and protect our future king.” Helen said, dryly.

Alec shot her a grateful look.

“And that too.” Jace quickly added. His smile faded. “That is my first and foremost job. I promise, Alec, I’m keeping watch-“

“I know you are, Jace.” Alec cut in. He didn’t like interrupting, but his friend’s face had fallen so quickly, and Alec hated that there was this…divide between them. All because Jace had bravely been honest on the bridge.

The prince drew his horse closer and rested a hand on Jace’s arm. “Jace, please believe me,” He said, quietly so that the others would not hear. He locked his eyes onto Jace’s, needing his friend to see the love and respect and trust that was still, and would always be there. “What you said on the bridge is nothing I have not felt myself. I know I’m not ready. That is why I am completing this quest.”

His grip tightened on Jace’s forearm, and the knight finally met Alec’s gaze; his eyes still wide with worry. Alec kept his voice calm, and – he hoped – soothing as he finished, “In all the years we have fought and grow together, you have been nothing but loyal and supportive. Please do not think I take that for granted.”

After a few moments passed – long enough that Alec started to plan another speech – Jace finally breathed out a long sigh of relief. He smiled, the crinkles returning to his eyes as he chuckled. The sound was, finally, relaxed. “Good." Jace laughed. "I was starting to think you wanted me to pick you some flowers or something.”

“Don’t pick faerie flowers, you fool. Or food.” Helen suddenly said. She stared firmly at Jace, but the whole group was listening now. “You might not be able to leave. Faerie foods can bind you to a place, so you might not be able to leave the Shadowlands if you do.”

“I knew that.” Jace muttered, but he looked apologetically at Alec.

The prince shrugged in reply, secretly realising that he hadn’t been the only one in the castle doing after-hours research. How had Helen managed to learn such things? Or more importantly, why? Alec was about to press the issue further when Magnus suddenly held up a hand, halting them in their path.

The sun had almost sunken completely beneath the trees. The last rays of light burst through the gaps, illuminating the forest in oranges and reds.

Magnus turned his horse around and addressed the group. “Up ahead is where we will make stop for our first night.”

“The Caves of Old?” Alec asked hopefully. He had been trying to find a way to show Magnus that he was paying attention; that he wanted to listen and include him.

The warlock tilted his head at him, nodded once and turned back to the others. Alec hid his disappointment badly, his shoulders slumping as he sighed. But it didn’t matter. Magnus wasn’t watching.

“The Caves of Old are up ahead. They are abandoned settlements so there is no risk that anyone will disturb us. I can put up some protection wards once we are inside, but as I said before, the Shadowlands is filled with magic; good and bad. It constantly changes.” Magnus sighed, running a hand over his forehead. “But I will do my best.”

Izzy smiled at him. “Thank you, Magnus. That’s all we ask.”

He smiled thankfully at her, and Alec felt a stab of bitterness. How had Izzy earned his smiles so easily?

_Because you are the future king,_ Alec told himself. _Someone who will one day have the power to make things even worse for his kind. For downworlders. You could hunt them down, one by one._

Alec hated that. What made mortals so high and mighty that they would hunt those they did not understand?

He also hated that he still fought against that superiority. He still felt moments of sudden fear as he glanced around at the forest; at the small creatures, and the shifts and shadows.

Luckily, his attention was soon drawn away from his worries.

Alec gasped, and he heard a few of the other knights also exclaim, when a large entrance appeared in the caves ahead. They stretched out to the left and right, but in the centre stood two, large red columns. They almost looked like turrets, but they were slimmer and curved at the top into an archway. It was an open door, Alec realised; but it had decayed and eroded into a faint, vine-covered entrance.

As they rode closer, Magnus swung down from his horse and stood before the open cavern. The knights waited, and watched as Magnus gracefully spun out a series of movements with his hands; sweeping them through the air with careful precision.

The familiar sight of blue sparks in the warlock’s hands was surprisingly comforting to Alec. He waited patiently for Magnus to finish his spells, before pushing off his horse. He walked forwards, the entrance looming over him.

“Is it safe?” Alec asked quietly, not wanting to spook the others.

Magnus shrugged. “It’s as safe as living.” His lips pulled into a smirk. “Which, if you know anything about living, Alec, means it’s full of risks and hardly worth the struggle.”

Sorrow pushed Alec into replying. He looked at Magnus, his eyes wide. “Do you really believe that? That life is not worth living?”

The warlock seemed to surrender then, and turned towards the prince with a sigh. His green eyes were dark and stormy; unreadable. “What is my opinion worth?” Magnus asked, but it wasn’t an insulting remark. It was simply a sound of defeat. “I will let you know when I’ve reached a decision about risks.” He fiddled with the reins on his horse. “Living as an immortal being is complicated, Alexander.”

Although Magnus abruptly ended the conversation by walking into the caves, Alec still smiled.

_Alexander_.

It was a start, he’d hoped.

Before he had time to process the tiny spark of hope, Alec was quickly urged on into the caves by his knights; with Jace beside him, and Izzy bringing up the rear with Lydia.

The cave opened up into an enormous space; reaching up into the heavens. Unusual structures that almost appeared to be huts decorated the rings of rocks that encircled the layer above their heads. Where they had entered on the ground was just the first of many floors. Alec stretched his head up, high, and still could not see any sign of a roof or the sky.

“By the Angel.” Aline murmured.

Jace took a more subtle approach. He cupped his hands around his mouth and cried out, “IF THERE ARE ANY DRAGONS OR UNICORNS HERE, PLEASE MAKE YOURSELVES KNOWN.”

Alec winced as the shout echoed around them. He waited nervously for Magnus to turn around hiss for him to be quiet. So it surprised him when the warlock’s laugh was the next sound to bounce off the walls. He decided that it was a very lovely sound; pleasant and relaxing.

As they stepped further in, they began to see proof of the people – or creatures – that had once lived in there.

“This is…unexpected.” Jace said to Alec, nudging him.

Alec nodded in reply. “It’s certainly a surprise.”

“That mortals once lived so close to downworlders?” Magnus called out. He didn’t face them, but his frustration was conveyed in his dry tone. “Believe it or not, they still do. Just not in the Shadowlands anymore.”

Alec quickly shook his head, and then realised that Magnus couldn’t see. “Uh, no, I just meant…I didn’t realise that mortals made a home here too. Once.”

“Once upon a time, there was a land filled with magic and mortals alike.” Magnus began. His voiced echoed around the caves and lodged itself around every small crack. “But mortals feared what they couldn’t understand and slowly separated themselves from those. When the opportunity came, mortals severed the tie completely and now, here we are. Abandoned caves where half-humans dwelled so close to us dreadful downworlders.”

Magnus turned to them and swept his arms out before them. “Welcome to the Caves of Old.” He said, with flourish.

Isabelle was the first to react. She slowly led her horse closer to the warlock, joining him in-front of the group. They stood before a small, half caved-in house of mud and leaves and crumbling rock. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Half-humans?” She repeated quietly. “Tell us more?”

Magnus sighed. “Children of mortals and faeries, or werewolves.”

“And warlocks?” Jace piped up, a helpful smile on his face.

Magnus’ eyes narrowed. “No.” He said. His voice was low, and frightened Alec. “Warlocks cannot have children.”

“Oh.” Jace looked away from the warlock, scratching his ear nervously. Lydia looked at him sympathetically, tapping his shoulder and gesturing to some of the drawings on the cave walls. They followed the drawings together, and Alec smiled as Jace’s shoulders relaxed again.

Magnus simply shrugged. “We have a long time to console ourselves.”

Watching the warlock speak so casually about his loss broke Alec’s heart. It was the loss of a possibility that saddened him. All because of his race, Magnus could not father children. Even if Alec had never thought about children – or maybe he had become immune to the pressures of carrying on the Lightwood name – there was time for him to change his mind.

Magnus, and other warlocks, did not have that chance, and Alec was furious that nature had taken away this choice.

For once, it was not an issue caused by mortals, but by a higher power that neither man nor creature could understand. He knew that warlocks were part demon, but looking at Magnus, one would not associate him with anything other than light, and goodness. Even his yellow eyes, the mark that ought to remind him of Magnus’ demon heritage, simply left Alec in a strange state of wonder. They were magical and beautiful, and he hated that Magnus would hide them as often as possible.

Alec looked around at the abandoned settlements and frowned. These were occupied, long ago, by his kind, and half-humans too. And yet, they looked older than the Accords. They were crumbling and ancient and long-ago deserted.

He voiced his question to Magnus, cautiously. “Did people - uh, beings? - flee the caves after the Accords were made?” He almost slipped in a tiny puddle of water, and Izzy was quick to steady him.

He turned back to Magnus and found him standing a lot closer. His hand was half hovering, grasping at the place where Alec had almost fell. He quickly lowered it, but Alec hid his smile.

So he hadn’t completely messed up if Magnus had offered to help him.

But Alec had a feeling that it wasn’t anything special. Magnus seemed like someone who would offer a helping hand to someone who had tripped him in the first place.

When Magnus replied, his voice had lost some of its edge. “No. Some did, I suppose, but the Caves were deserted long before. The Accords, Alec, were the finishing flourish to a hatred that started a long time ago. Do you believe your parents were the first to hate us? To begin chipping at the divide that has fractured our land into Idris, and the Shadowlands?"

Alec flushed, looking away. The message was clear: he was not important.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he then saw Jace start to cup his hands around his mouth.

“JACE, IF YOU YELL FOR A UNICORN AGAIN, I WILL TURN YOU INTO ONE.” Magnus yelled.

“You wouldn’t.” Jace mumbled.

Magnus glanced at Alec, who shook his head; a little sadly, which spread an amused smile across Magnus' face.

Jace turned to Lydia. “ _Can_ he do that?”

She shrugged, a small smile on her lips. She folded her arms over her armoured chest. “Who knows? Do you want to risk it?”

Magnus smirked in gratitude when Jace was silent again. “Well,” He began, tapping his hands against his sides. “This feels like a decent spot for the night. As good as any place in an abandoned cave the size of the first – no, _second_ – ring of hell.”

Alec and his knights came to a stop, taking in the open chamber that Magnus had guided them into. It opened up into a wide, space filled with small clusters of rocks and what looked like a tiny lake. Well, Alec thought, the dwellers would need a water source. The lake shimmered under the light. Alec then frowned. What light? And then he stepped forwards, fully entering the large chamber, and glanced up.

As the other joined him, they gasped.

Izzy let out a quiet whistle. Her grin was wide as she gazed up at the source of light. “Now _that_ , is way more impressive than candlelight.”

Alec had to agree. It really was more impressive than any mortal way of capturing light.

The chamber opened up at the very top, a circle that let in the brightest moonlight Alec had ever seen. Until now, he had thought that moonlight was cold. Something cruel and without colour. As it poured into the cavern and lit up the water, reflecting shimmers of blue and green across the lake, Alec felt his mind change.

Magnus stood in-front of the lake, his neck stretched tall as he peered up at the hole in the overhead space. The moonlight hit him from all sides, and Alec stared with wide eyes. It was as if light itself was pouring from Magnus’ body; the rays illuminating his sharp angles and dark hair.

He looked like an angel to Alec, as he stood still under the moon’s watchful light. An ethereal being of timeless grace.

Alec tore his eyes away quickly. The overwhelming to look back immediately sent shivers down his spine. He fought it with all of his strength, only relaxing when Izzy stood beside him and looped her arm through his. “I think we should build a castle here.” She whispered jokingly. “I think mother and father would approve, don’t you?”

He tensed as their names sent a new kind of shiver across his skin. It wasn’t as pleasant as when he had been watching Magnus. This feeling was fearful and ashamed.

Izzy noticed immediately. “Hey.” She said. “We can do this, I promise. Whatever you are fighting against, I promise that I’m not leaving your side. We will complete this quest, big brother. I swear it.”

“On the angels?” Alec muttered.

“No.” Izzy shook her head firmly. “On us. I believe in you, and I believe in me. I believe in a bond that may not be as eternal as the angels, but it is stronger than fear.” Her eyes flashed silver under the moonlight; strong and proud. “I swear to you on love, Alec. And I have never pressed it further, but I know that love is something you fear. I hope one day you can see the strength in it. I would like that for you.”

“What do I need of love?” Alec quickly said. He ignored the sweat that had broken out on his face, wiping his clammy palms against his tunic. “What does a _king_ need of love? He has loyalty and family. That is the only love a king is asked to have. I do not have that luxury, Isabelle.”

She lifted her chin, determination flashing in her eyes. “For now.” She declared, and then turned in the direction of Jace before Alec could even protest.

Why did she have to infuriate him so?

Why did she feel in necessary to cloud his thoughts with dreams of love? Alec thought he had taught himself better than that.

As he slowly began to unroll out the furs they had brought for sleeping, Alec turned Izzy’s words over and over again in his mind. As he laid down, gazing up into the moonlight, he realised that the quest had awakened so many new possibilities. So many fears, and joys too. Even just spending a day riding in the Shadowlands had sparked his curiosity to unreachable heights.

He waited for the rest of the group to settle.

As the last sounds of conversation came to a silence, Alec waited a little while longer. He waited until the only sounds he could hear were that of the soft cries of small creatures flying over the small hole in the top of the cavern.

When all was quiet, Alec carefully stood, stretching and following the path they had come. He knew not to venture too far; especially without a weapon, but the drawings on teh walls had caught his eye as they entered. After all, he thought, who could sleep when the tingle of magic in the air kept you awake?

He sighed, scanning his eyes over the walls as he searched.

He knew that Aline and Helen had taken up the first watch outside the cave, so he didn’t want to reach the entrance and explain why he’d wandered around on his own. He slowed his pace. The light was dimmer as he walked further from the moonlight-filled chamber, so Alec placed a hand on the wall as he stared-

“If you are searching for a place to wash, Alexander, I believe I saw a lake back the way you came.” A teasing voice echoed from behind. “Quite large, you can’t miss it really.”

Alec jumped, dragging his hand back a little too fast.

A sudden stab of pain flared in his palm. When he looked down, there was a thin, long cut on his palm; blood trickling across his fingertips.

He hissed in pain. “Why did you sneak up on me?” Alec muttered, as the warlock finished walking towards him. He dabbed carelessly at his wound.

“Stop that.” Magnus snapped. His expression was unclear to the prince; his eyes widened by a hidden emotion.

Magnus sighed, quickly tearing off a small strip of material from his robe’s long sleeve. Before Alec could protest, Magnus grabbed the prince’s wrist and wrapped the makeshift binder around Alec’s palm. He tied it with careful fingers, and Alec’s eyes flickered down to the warlock’s lips. They were pressed together in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking through.

Alec swallowed, and tried to pull his hand away, but Magnus held it in place as he tied off the last knot.

“Be still, you foolish prince.” Magnus grumbled.

Alec blinked in surprise.

The warlock’s movements stilled. He slowly let go of Alec’s hand and took a step back. Silence swarmed all around them as the two stood face to face.

Finally, Magnus toyed with the now-frayed edged of his robe sleeve and sighed. “Damnation.” He cursed, still not meeting Alec’s eyes. “I suppose you’ll hang me for that?”

It hurt Alec to realise that Magnus was probably more serious than joking. His fear was genuine, and Alec grew more uncomfortable as the moments passed.

“Uh, no.” He offered lamely, unsure of what else to say.

If he begged Magnus to treat him like a normal person – and not a royal – then surely the warlock would laugh. But if he pulled rank and treated him like he expected to be, that would only make things worse. And Alec felt horrified to even consider pulling rank over someone so powerful. Someone who had taken them into the Shadowlands and guided them safely.

He was relieved when Magnus smirked. “Good.” The warlock relaxed. “My neck is too lovely to snap.”

Magnus then looked to Alec, the cave walls, and then down at his frayed robes. “I’m too old for this.” He announced with a sigh. He leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes and leaving Alec with an unusual warm feeling as he stared down at the newly wrapped hand.

Magnus’ touch still burned into his fingertips. The prince wiggled them slowly, one by one, as if testing their strength.  It was different to the shivers that magic produced. It felt like it was pulled from within Alec; a tugging sensation that pulled from his chest.

“How old are you?” He suddenly blurted out. It was a thoughtless thing to say. But it was late, he was standing in the narrow cavern walkway with Magnus, and wasn’t sure what else to do.

Gracefully, Magnus arched an eyebrow at him. “That is a rather person question, Alexander, and one that I will not answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will be a lie.” Magnus admitted. His smile was playful. It then suddenly turned serious as he pushed off the wall and turned to face the prince. “And I don’t want to lie to you.”

Alec hid the way his breath caught and held up his hand. The one that had a piece of Magnus’ robe wrapped around it like an embrace. “I’m just a mere mortal, remember?” He tried to laugh. “I bleed easily, so you don’t have to worry about feeling inadequate.”

“Oh, Alec,” Magnus’ expression turned crestfallen. His eyes were sad now. “That isn’t what I meant…before…”

He broke off, looking into the distance for a moment, before quietly continuing. “I do not see myself as better than you. Nor should you. I have seen a great deal of kindness in mortals, and a great deal of evil in downworlders. But I have also seen mortals thirst for power and strive on hatred, and watched peaceful downworlders love fiercely and passionately.”

Magnus' voice was quiet, but held so much power and depth. Alec hung onto every word. The warlock smiled. “The point I am trying to make is that yes, you are mortal. You also have a power that can corrupt as easily as it can create beauty and peace. With whatever time we are given, all any of us can do is make choices, and stand by them. We can fight, or hide. We can live, love, hate or destroy.”

Alec had never felt so completely lost for words.

As he gazed at Magnus, and tried to form words of gratitude, all he could do was nod. He swallowed, surprised to feel tears forming behind his eyes. The warlock’s words had entered his blood and danced into his soul. Their earnest truths had overwhelmed the prince, and he simply stared down at his injured hand and wondered why it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“I was looking for the drawings.” He finally said. His words were a lame offering in comparison to the gift of Magnus’ wisdom, but it was all that Alec had to give. All he could give Magnus in return was his own honesty. He hoped it would be a start to bridge the gap that he, and his kind, had created.

“What drawings?”

Dread washed over Alec. Had he imagined them? “The ones I saw when…” His sentence trailed off when he looked up and found Magnus grinning at him, his eyes flashing gold for a moment.

“Apologies.” The warlock teased. “I should not tease you so.”

Alec opened his mouth to admit that he didn’t mind it, but his cheeks flushed as he caught Magnus’ smile widen. There was something in the warlock’s expression that silenced Alec. The words that had almost slipped out almost felt like a confession. They felt too personal.

And so Alec remained silent, and gestured to the wall. “Did they disappear?”

Magnus nodded. “Half-fae lived here briefly.” He explained, coming to stand closer to the wall. His robes brushed Alec’s tunic, and the prince felt his shoulder touch his.

Obliviously, Magnus continued. “They often left drawings on the walls to tell their stories; their lives and their dreams and sometimes, the future.” His eyes glistened playfully. “Would you care to see your future, Alec?”

“Uh, is that a good idea? I mean….it sounds, uh, not proper?”

“The law is the law, yes, I know that." He muttered. He sighed, looking at Alec with a daring smirk. "But you’re in the Shadowlands now, Your Highness. Perhaps it is time to embrace a little danger, hm?”

Magnus wigged his fingers over the wall of the cave. Still, it remained blank. He watched Alec carefully, his head tilted to one side. “You really do not wish to know?”

“The future can change.” Alec quickly said. He began to pull at the knots on his bandage and mumbled, “And I’m sure the faeries would make it a riddle to work out. It wouldn’t be simple.”

“Nothing ever is, Alexander.” Magnus’ voice was softer now, and he watched Alec with a kind smile. “You should go back to the others. Try to get some rest. Our guides will arrive early in the morning, I will wake you all then.”

“You are leaving us? Already?”

Alec bit his lip. He had forgotten that Magnus was only journeying this far, to the Caves and no more. It surprised him to feel so disappointed.

“Yes.” Magnus replied, placing his hands back by his sides. He looked away from Alec, his expression turning sad. “There is someone who lives in the Shadowlands that I would like to avoid. Very much.”

_You would rather avoid them than stay with us?_ Alec wanted to ask. And then he felt guilty for thinking that. Magnus had been gracious enough to enter with them, and he had kept to his promise of delivering them to another guide.

“I think it is time I returned to the tower as well.” Magnus went on, breezily. “My cat might be missing me.”

“You have a cat?” Alec couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes. She is an awful creature. Stubborn and temperamental, and tears holes in my lovely robes.” Magnus winked at Alec. “Remind you of anyone?”

Hiding his smile – and supressing the urge to playfully agree - Alec realised they had returned to the large chamber. His smile widened as he saw his friends asleep. Jace’s snores tested Alec’s self-control even more. He had slept beside Jace during long visits to other castles, and it was an amusingly loud, uncontrollable series of pig-sounding noises.

“I like them.” Magnus said, quietly.

Alec was surprised. “You do?” And then he pursed his lips together. Why did it matter if Magnus approved of their group? He had made it clear that he didn’t want to be a part of it any longer.

“Mm hm. They are quite charming.” Magnus shrugged lazily, mirth in his expression. “Not as delightful company as myself, of course, but nethertheless, they are good companions. For mortals.” He added, but there was no cruelty in his voice. Simply…surprise.

A scattering of leaves suddenly drifted in with the moonlight. Alec watched as the leaves landed on the water; small ripples moving across the lake. The movements soothed him, and he watched until a yawn escaped his lips. He ran a hand across the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Uh, goodnight.”

“Rest well, Your Highness.”

_Call me Alexander again,_ Alec almost invited. But he swallowed down that request and turned away from the warlock.

He settled under the furs of his improvised bed, and soon drifted into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

It was only occasionally broken by the burning of Alec’s small, open wound, slowly scaring over and healing under the protection of Magnus’ robe.

~

Isabelle was reaching.

She reached and reached and almost grasped the hand that was begging to be touched. It was so close to her now, so close that she could feel the warmth of the person’s skin against her stretching fingertips.

Achingly, she reached out with her mind.

_“I’m coming”,_ she tried to speak. Or whisper. Or dream-echo.

It had taken her a long while to realise that this dream asked to be spoken to in a different way. It was a language without words; of touches and emotions. They – whoever was on the opposite side of the red cord that haunted her unconscious – spoke in colour.

And somehow, it almost made sense to Isabelle. She had always felt that her dream was trapped and needed her desperately. It yearned a freedom that Izzy herself recognised, and fought for.

Tonight’s dream had struck her as different.

The tingling pull of the cord was almost painful. If she had been awake, the force of it would have sent her hurtling through the air. She would have collapsed under the pressure and fallen to her knees; helpless against it. But, as it was like in that dreamlike way where right and wrongs are no longer easy to explain, Izzy was certain that the cord was not something to fear. It had always driven her; reminded her that there was something, or someone, out there waiting.

When she had assumed it was a reminder of her brother’s death, Izzy had fought against it. She had pushed back the guilt and swept it to one side. She would exhaust herself and ensure that she had enough energy to sleep, but not to dream.

But then she had grown older, and in the recent years had come to not only expect, but welcome the dream. And all its hauntingly beautiful colours and feelings.

_“I can’t wait to meet you.”_

The words flew into Izzy’s heart, warming and caressing it. They exploded in bursts of pinks and reds and soft sounds; running a brush through hair, a river lapping over rocks, a kiss pressed to a child’s forehead.

In other versions of the dream, Izzy had felt fear and darkness. Although it was still in the back of her mind, this dream was gentle and full of smiles and lullabies. The cord’s tightness was a welcome way to steady the dream; to take it into her hands and hold it carefully. She was in control of it. The power was hers.

And then, nothing.

Izzy faded out of the dream slowly, but peacefully.

She had learned long ago that she could not fight to remain asleep if someone on the other side was waking her…

~

“My dear, we must leave soon.”

Magnus gently shook Isabelle again, afraid to frighten her. When she began to stir, he pulled himself up from his crouch and turned to wake Lydia, who was sleeping on her side. Magnus paused. In the night, Jace – who was wrapped in furs on the girl’s left – had rolled closer. The pair were facing each other, still asleep, but there was a subconscious mirroring in their bodies.

Magnus felt rude to intrude, but forced himself to tap Lydia on the shoulder, and then Jace, before quickly turning away and letting them stir on their own.

He had meddled in affairs of the hearts before. Never again.

Not without careful thought and reason.

But Magnus did not do too well with logic, when his heart kept expanding with newfound joys and tenderness. He’d grown used to a lonely existence.

Or so he had thought.

But now, Magnus found himself relaxing into their company, and even getting to know of their habits and gestures. He had come to expect Aline’s warm laugh, or Izzy’s fierce smiles. He had come to wait for Jace’s inevitable remarks, and Alec’s ever-present strength.

The prince was a leader who respected his group, and Magnus was growingly frustrated that he could not hate Alexander for very much longer.

After a short while, the group had risen and looked ready to leave. When they all turned to head out the way they came, Magnus cleared his throat. “Excuse me, lovely mortals.” He called cheerfully. “Or you might miss a rather spectacular entrance.”

As if on cue – and it really wouldn’t have surprised Magnus if Cat had planned it – two figures suddenly flew down from the hole in the cavern’s ceiling. One was a beautiful woman with vivid blue skin and a grin that matched Magnus’ own, and the other was a slightly younger, but no less beautiful, man with large, black wings and tiny brown horns gracefully arching above his eyebrows.

Magnus was also surprised, and pleased, that the knights did not draw their weapons as his warlock companions landed before them with a quiet thud. His old friends turned to him, and rushed towards him with open arms.

“Hello, my dears.” He said, happily embracing them both. The tops of Elias’ wings tickled Magnus’ cheeks, but he didn’t mind at all. They were soft and large, and Elias soon arched them back a little to give them more room.

Cat was taller than both of them – a fact that Magnus disliked very much – and kissed the top of his head, her blue skin shining under the early morning light. “It has been far too long, you.” She said, fondly. “And you only called upon us because of a quest!” She sighed deeply, and Magnus almost believed her frustration.

But then she smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Magnus.” Catarina said, warmly, giving him another quick hug.

When he caught Alec staring at the new warlocks, his eyes as wide as the rest of his friends’, Magnus quickly clapped his hands together. “Ah, introductions.” He said. He stood between his two friends and gestured from Elias to Cat as he spoke. “This gorgeous creature here is Elias. He is a warlock. This equally stunning woman is Catarina. Also – hold your applause – a warlock.”

Catarina gasped. “Am I really one of those awful creatures?” She glanced down at her skin and shrieked. “By the angel!” She mocked the mortal’s favourite saying with a wicked grin.

Alec and Lydia jumped as her cry echoed, but they both quickly recovered.

Magnus felt a little guilty. His friend was even less subtle than he was, and Magnus Bane was not a man of few words, or small displays.

But Catarina Loss was a warlock who was as intelligent and sharp as she was sneaky. It was probably why they got along so well.

Elias, the quieter of the two, simply smiled at the knights. He went to offer his hand, and then reconsidered; keeping it by his sides. His wings hovered in the air. Magnus had only met Elias once or twice before, in Catarina’s company, but he liked and trusted the warlock, and was happy to entrust Alec and his knights into their guidance.

Magnus swung an arm each around the two warlocks. “My friends,” He said. “These are the brave – or foolish, I still haven’t decided – mortals who wish to find the Cup. May I introduce Prince Alec of Idris, and his loyal knights?”

It amused him to no end when Catarina bowed gracefully. To anyone else, it was a gesture of respect, but the dramatic was not lost on Magnus; who knew that Cat hated bowing and used it as a silent insult.

“Please,” Alec quickly said. He held up a hand. “You are our guides now, and a part of our quest. I would like you consider me, uh, _us_ , as…allies.” The prince cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “At the very least.”

Catarina drew back up to her full height and lowered her head instead, a sign of respect. “Very well.” She said, coolly, and Magnus knew that she was still unsure. On his right, Elias simply nodded once and shuffled on his feet; waiting for the next move.

“Well,” Magnus smiled widely and stepped to the side. “My job here is done. I will leave under Catarina and Elias’ guide.”

Without glancing at any of the knights for too long, Magnus looked between them all. When he spoke again, he tried to keep his voice breezy, but there was a hint of sadness in it. As if he was once again surrendering to the loneliness. “It has been wonderful meeting you all, and should you ever find yourselves wandering past Ash Tower, do stop by for some tea. Or wine. Or tea with wine in it.”

He went to step around them, but someone blocked his path.

When he forced himself to look up, Isabelle’s smiling face was both a blessing and a curse. Her eyes were bright with tears; tears he didn’t want to think about for very long. His throat suddenly felt very tight. Without warning, Isabelle reached up with open arms and pulled him into a hug. Her arms went around his neck and the touch was so gentle and caring that Magnus had to fight even harder against his own tears.

She whispered into his ear, “Thank you for your help. I hope we see each other afterwards.”

He nodded, unable to speak. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed his arms to wrap around her waist. At first, he had hesitated, but her words were so kind and spoken with such sincerity, that Magnus felt compelled to return the embrace. It was a brief moment of happiness that he would carry for the rest of the journey home.

As they made their way out of the cave, Magnus walked with Catarina and Elias, who were now surprisingly quiet as they followed the knights into the new day. The Shadowlands welcomed them with a sombre greeting. Dark clouds rolled overhead, and the usual sounds of animals stirring and magic swirling were unexpectedly quiet.

He remembered what he had said before they entered. Something had not felt right then, and it did not feel right now.

“Cat.” He said, quietly. His serious tone spoke like a question, and Cat sensed it immediately.

She nodded. “I feel it too. Keep an eye out.”

There was a change in the air that felt like fire and ice; as though opposites were fighting each other and causing damage all around. It was usual for magic to collide. Especially in the Shadowlands, where so many downworlders shared their home with different customs and magical creatures. But this was a darker kind of battle. One that had slipped under Magnus’ skin like a poison.

He had wanted to tell Alec and the others, but then he had concentrated on remembering the path to the Caves of Old, and it had foolishly slipped from his thoughts.

“Has it always felt like this? I have not been here for years, but…I do not remember this feeling.”

It was Elias’ turn to speak, and Magnus felt the sadness in his voice like a heart snapping in two. “For a few years now, the Shadowlands had begun to change. It is our home, and we can feel it tearing itself apart. It is like the gods themselves are wanting us destroyed.”

“Elias, you should not believe such things.” Cat said, sharply. Her eyes were wide. “Have pride in your heritage. No matter how many mortals, or downworlders, scorn you for it, you must learn to accept and love the things about yourself that you cannot change.” She smiled kindly at him, but there was a darkness in her tone that reminded Magnus of heartbreak. “We are immortal, but we feel as strongly as others do. Turn away from such hatred. There is enough of that in the land.”

After they had all reached the entrance to the woodlands, the knights gathered; waiting. Magnus noticed that Alec kept watching him, and then glancing away. His lip was a raw red, and when Magnus glanced down at the wound he had quickly bound the night before, he noticed that the knots were lose.

_Did the foolish prince not retie it? I did such an awful job. He shouldn’t have let me-_

“Magnus, you said in your note to take the company to the faeries?” Catarina addressed him loudly, including the knights in the conversation. They listened carefully, still waiting for direction. Cat looked thoughtful. “Which court? I think that the Seelie Court will be the most welcoming. Perhaps-“

A loud howl suddenly ripped through the morning stillness. It shook the trees and startled their party.

“What in the Angel’s name was that?” Izzy cried, reaching to untie the whip coiled around her arm. It was like a snake, Magnus realised, and he remembered that the faerie, Meliorn, had gifted it to her. No wonder the weapon gleamed with something that was not mortal-made. It was magical.

“That, my dear,” Magnus said. “Was a werewolf.”

Tension spread through the group as they withdrew the weapons, one by one.

A grinning Jace nudged Aline. “You owe me five gold coins, little one.” He said happily. He was the only one who looked pleased to have heard such an angry creature so close to their party.

She glared back. “If we make it out alive, I will gladly pay up. For now, hush that mouth.”

Magnus was about to ask if they ought to take another route, when a blur of black lunged out from the trees.

It was so fast, and graceful in its deadly precision as it thudded towards them.

Before anyone had a moment to react, it grabbed Helen in its jaws.

Aline screamed.

They watched as the large werewolf stared at them, its red eyes a violent storm of anger. And then, it turned and raced back through the trees; still carrying Helen in its jaws.

Elias was in the air before anyone else reacted.

His wings darted out as he rushed off after the beast, and Helen, urgently pushing through trees and disappearing from view.

“Go, go, go!” Alec cried, already mounting his horse and rushing off. His knights followed suit, quickly gathering up their wits and racing through the forest to help.

Magnus and Catarina had begun to create a portal together; using their memories of Elias to track and locate him. They worked together as quickly as possible and disappeared through the purple haze of a portal just in time to appear standing in a small clearing surrounded by blackened trees. They looked as if they were burned, and they stretched almost as tall as the tower that stood in the centre of the clearing.

This tower, unlike Magnus’, was unwelcoming and foreboding. It was impossibly tall – definitely a glamour, Magnus realised – and had no signs of entrance. There were no windows or doors and-

That was all he had time to observe before the werewolf came crashing into the open grass.

Helen was still in the creature’s jaws, but she was being held with a strange care by the vicious wolf. It held her between his teeth, snarling, but did not bite down with a fatal snap of its huge jaws. It arched its back when it spotted the two warlocks, and then growled as the knights soon followed through the trees; weapons at the ready.

Elias flew in the air, hovering above the creature and casting a spell. Orange sparks flamed down from above, landing on the creature’s head. It howled, collapsing to the ground for a few moments. Elias swooped lower, landing beside Catarina and Magnus and turning to face the beast.

Alec and his knights circled the werewolf on their horses.

Aline edged forwards, crying out Helen’s name loudly and repeatedly. Tears streamed down her face, blinding her against seeing that Helen was still alive. She screamed and launched two small daggers at the werewolf. They lodged in its right ear, and right eye, and although it did not prove fatal, the wolf released an agonising cry and weakened its hold on Helen; who was still weakly pounding her fists against the creature’s jaw.

Magnus watched, carefully following the werewolf’s movements. It was wary of them, but clearly wanted to leave with Helen.

“What does it want with her?” He mused out loud.

Catarina had clearly been wondering the same. She gritted her teeth together. “It’s unusual to see a lone werewolf as well. Where’s his pack?” She suddenly gasped. “The eyes.” She hissed to Magnus.

Horror suddenly hit Magnus as he realised what she had been trying to say. The werewolf’s eyes were red. Not yellow or green or blue. But red.

“It’s a demon.”

“Or being used by one.” Cat said grimly.

Before they had time to organise another attack, half a dozen more howls suddenly came from behind them; from behind the tower. Magnus watched with surprise as a group of werewolves – ones without red eyes – came hurtling into the clearing to join the fight. They ignored the knights, and even the warlocks, and leaped at the red-eyed wolf.

The knights, including Aline, were sent reeling backwards on their horses. Some of the riders fell off, and Magnus’ breath caught when Alec was one of them. He watched, helplessly, as the prince fell back; too close to the werewolves’ attack for Magnus to look away.

Fortunately, Jace and Izzy had dismounted and had dragged their prince backwards, and further away from the fight that was now unfurling in a series of painful cries, howls and sounds that sounded a lot like flesh being torn into.

Magnus kept his blue sparks alive and ready, just in case, but after another minute, the werewolves slowed, and formed a circle; watching whatever was in the centre.

A loud, fatal crack echoed around the clearing.

Magnus’ heart leaped into his throat as he ran closer. The knights all rushed into the circle, trying to see past the werewolves. They were all beyond the point of fearing the creatures who had helped saved their lives. All they wanted was proof that such an awful crunch had not been the snapping of their friend’s neck.

Aline’s whimper became a sigh, and then a sob of relief, and Magnus watched as she dove into the circle and cradled Helen in her arms; pushing bloody, blonde hair away from her eyes.

Beside her, the red-eyed werewolf was unnaturally still; its neck at a fatal angle. The other wolves backed away slowly, watching and studying the group quietly. The knights let them, and Magnus, Catarina and Elias nodded their thanks.

Magnus then hurried into the circle, gently pushing past the others and kneeling beside Aline and Helen. He felt for her pulse. It was weak, but beating with determined pounds, and Magnus felt hope return to his heart.

“She needs the blood of another. I cannot do it, either.” He told her, gently. Magnus placed a hand on Aline’s forearm and carefully instructed, “Take her to the Seelie Court. They have magic that can heal her in the blink of an eye, I promise.”

Aline nodded, tears still falling down her eyes. In her arms, Helen trembled, but managed to smile as she gazed up at her companion. “Aline…I….I….”

“Shh, please don’t try to talk.” Aline begged. “Save your strength, Helen. Please. You will be okay. You will.” She stood, and with Magnus’ help, lifted Helen onto her horse. Aline then leaped onto the horse, pulling Helen against her chest carefully. Her voice was a soft murmur, and Magnus felt his heart ache for her. “We always promised each other that we would die together, remember? You are not leaving me. Not now. Stay with me…”

“I will go with them.” Catarina said quickly. She waited for anyone to protest, and then nodded to Aline. “Which one is your horse?”

Aline pointed it out, and Catarina ascended it gracefully. She looked at Magnus and Elias and explained, “They need a downworlder to translate Fae. I can do it. Find out what happened here and meet us there as soon as you can.”

Magnus glanced at Alec, who was standing with Jace and Izzy. Their chests heaved, both from fear and the trauma of almost seeing their friend’s slaughter. And seeing a demon for the first time, Magnus reminded himself. He tried for an encouraging smile, a hopeful one, but he felt it tremble and disappear. He looked away.

The quest briefly forgotten, the knights and Magnus and Elias watched in sombre silence as Catarina, Helen and Aline rode off hastily; past the clearing and racing through the woodlands. It was about half a day’s ride to the Seelie Court, if the layout had not changed dramatically, and Magnus hoped with all his might that it was a futile trip.

He knew Helen was a troubled soul, and troubled souls had a habit of becoming tragedies. He did not want Helen’s story to end so soon.

“Who are you?”

Magnus spun around.

The voice belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark skin and a cautious expression. He was dressed in a simple tunic of faded red – as though it had been worn for a long time – and his loose trousers were that of someone who did not care for appearances. They were dirt-stained and worn almost to the knee.

Magnus hid his wince. The man was lovely, but he really needed to wash.

From behind the tower, a small group of men emerged, all in similar clothing and slightly bedraggled in appearances. They stood behind the tall man, who was clearly their leader – and likely, Alpha – and waited instruction. The werewolves had transitioned into their other forms. 

Magnus was about to answer, and to explain their quest quite calmly to the lovely werewolves who had saved his hind, when Izzy suddenly gasped.

“Isabelle!” Alec cried.

Magnus turned around in time to see Isabelle collapse to the ground; her eyes firmly closed as Alec caught her carefully. He scooped her up into his arms, his eyes wide with fear. “Izzy?” He whispered. “Izzy…”

Jace was beside them in an instant, checking the girl for hidden wounds. When he could not find any, he frowned. His eyes were as wide as Alec’s. “She’s not hurt. Alec, I don’t know…I…”

Magnus and Elias turned away from the werewolves and hurried towards the fallen woman.

Magnus ran a hand over Isabelle, searching with his senses for an internal damage. When his magic did not find anything strange, he looked helplessly at Alec. “I’m so sorry.” He said. “I cannot find anything wrong with her.”

It was the truth. There was nothing noticeable wrong with the princess. She looked peaceful and asleep; not injured and unconscious like Helen had been.

But there was a strong magic in the air, one that sung sharply around them all, and around the tower and the princess too.

And then, Isabelle’s eyes snapped open.

She gasped again, sitting bolt upright in her brother’s arms. She took deep breathes, as if she had been running for a long time. And then, she climbed out of Alec’s arms and turned towards the looming, black tower.

Isabelle’s cheeks were flushed pink, and when she smiled, it was filled with adventures yet to come.

“Clary.” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, things got intense!!!!!!!  
> What did you think of the Caves, and the introductions of Elias and Catarina? :)  
> Also, POOR HELEN!  
> Please leave a comment if you can, saying which parts you liked and lines you liked, or just a simple 'I liked this chapter!' means so much to me :)  
> Kudos are lovely, but comments are almost as good as malec kisses ;) ;)  
> I'm sure you can work out who the werewolf leader was, but I'll pay anyone (in chocolate, of course!) if you can guess what the werewolf wanted with Helen........?  
> Also, here are some drawing inspirations I used for the Caves!  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b5/56/2b/b5562bbc9b0c05b0a1a1438e74655ebe.jpg  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3c/5c/31/3c5c3154944c4615883e71e9219811d6.jpg


	5. The Die Is Cast - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'The Die Is Cast' : "an event has happened or a decision has been taken that cannot be changed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> I'm so sorry for taking so long to update, but this chapter grew into about 20k+, so I decided to split it into two parts. The second part will be up tomorrow :)  
> Let me know your thoughts, and happy reading! <3

_Before_

“Lady Anna, _please_ ….I can’t run anymore….I can’t breathe….”

“Clary Fairchild, your mother did not give her life for you to act like a brat. Get yourself together. Now.”

Clary gasped for air. The warlock’s harsh words struck her with painful clarity.

Her mother was dead. Or if not yet, soon about to be.

And so here she was, stumbling through the Shadowlands with a warlock who was roughly dragging her through trees and fields. Clary fought against the tears forming in her eyes, and focused on placing one foot in-front of the other. Over and over again, until the warlock glanced down at her.

In the pale moonlight, the warlock’s green skin glowed, and Clary shivered with fear. Guilt soon washed over her. The warlock – Anna - had rescued her, and it was not Clary’s job to question her trust, or give in to her father’s wicked hatred. The very same man she was now being led away from.

She was finally free from the sorcerers, but at what cost?

“We are here.”

Clary stumbled into the clearing, her eyes widening as she saw the tall, gloomy tower rising up before her. She tried to pull away from the warlock’s grasp, but Anna’s hold was too strong to break.

“Where are you trying to go, Clary?” She asked. Anna crouched down beside her, her expression softening. The green shimmer of her skin was a shade lighter than the grass.

“Listen to me very carefully. This is the only way we can protect you from your father. Do you understand?” Anna placed a gentle hand to her cheek, and Clary felt it sooth her. “I know you may not believe me, but Jocelyn is doing this because she loves you. And so Valentine cannot hurt you.”

Clary felt the tears fall down her cheeks, but she remained silent; pressing her quivering lips together and trying to appear as strong as her mother had been that morning. She remembered her mother’s last look as she looked at every inch of her daughter before kissing the top of her head and saying goodbye.

“I’m going to cast a very powerful spell on you, Clary Fairchild.” Anna said. “One that will one day be broken. I promise you, we – someone - will free you as soon as Valentine is stopped.”

“Are you going to watch over me?” Clary asked timidly.

Behind them, she could hear eerie cries shattering the night air. They were growing closer and closer, and Clary fought against the rising panic. How she wanted to flee. To push away from Anna and rush back to her mother. Rush back to the group of sorcerers she had been unwillingly led to. Even if it meant facing the man she was supposed to love and call family; the man who had killed her brother, and likely her mother too.

Valentine was still after the Cup, and Clary knew that she was going to die next in his attempt to secure it. She would be the next sacrifice. It was why her mother had sent her away with Anna.

The green-skinned woman smiled, and Clary saw it as a sad, empty smile; the smile of someone with nothing to lose. The warlock took her hand, gentler this time, and led her towards the tower. Her steps were urgent and fast, but the hand in Clary’s was comforting, and she clung to it.

“I need you to go inside.” Anna said. “Take the staircase, and look out of the window when you are up. Can you do that for me?”

Clary nodded, her heartbeat racing in her ears.

“When you see me start to…glow, I need you to lay down. There will be a bed waiting for you.”

“Am I going to fall asleep?”

“Yes. A long sleep. I promise, this is the only way we can keep you safe.”

Clary felt her eyes widen. They were going to keep her in here? Inside the Shadowlands still? “B-but my father. He will find me!”

“Valentine cannot go inside, Clary. I promise you. I am going use a great deal of magic to cast a protection spell. Only someone who truly loves you, and who you love in return, will be able to pass through.”

“How much magic?” Clary suddenly asked. Fear twisted knots inside her stomach as she watched the warlock’s smile fade.

“All of it.” Anna told her. She stood from her crouch.

“Will that hurt?”

Anna’s eyes grew distance. She drew Clary into a quick hug, and Clary savoured it; fearing that it might be the last one she had for a long, long time.

“Go now, child.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore.” Clary quickly said. “I can fight. I can leave the Shadowlands and find someone to help! Someone to fight my father and stop him-“

“Clary, you are still too young. And it is not the right time. There has been a prophecy. A very powerful one. Not even you, my little warrior, can change it. And you are a part of it. The tower will sing it to you. And when the time is right, you will awake. Sleep now, so that you may be a part of another’s story. Live your own story, Clary Fairchild.”

A screech tore fear through Clary’s mind. She screamed as a terrifying, tall creature entered the clearing.

Anna pushed Clary behind her. “Go, Clary. Run.” Anna commanded. Already, bright green sparks flashed inside her palms as she faced down the demon.

It seemed that Valentine was beginning to work out how to summon them. With the help of his sorcerers, he was figuring out how to once again open the gates to hell.

Sobbing, Clary fled; running as fast as she could across the grass. Nettles stung and bit at her ankles but she carried on, reaching the tower. The door opened just before she reached it, and Clary didn’t give herself a moment to hesitate.

Inside, the space was dark and an aroma of musk and trees swirled around the air. She shivered. This was where she was to spend her time. Until someone would come and wake her. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood and hard enough to stop its trembling. She had to do this. Her mother’s sacrifice would not be in vain. She would live to fight another day.

At the top of the winding staircase, the tower opened up into one, large room. The only object that occupied it was a large bed, with tall, wooden posts and a single, small window. Clary ran to the window now and peered out into the dark night. From here, she could see so much of the Shadowlands. She could almost make out the small settlement where she had lived so recently with her father and his…companions.

_Sorcerers_ , she told herself firmly.

It was time to stop ignoring the truth of her father’s schemes. It was time for Clary to realise what she had been witnessing all these years.

The birth of the end of everything.

The birth of destruction and chaos; a new world that her father hoped to shape with a new, terrifying power.

_But he doesn’t have it yet,_ Clary soothed herself. It was true. No matter how many downworlders Valentine had started to lure into his grasps, and no matter how many of them he sacrificed and killed, he could not get close to the Cup. It sat on its stone table; unmoving and protected by a magic more ancient than anything that had come before.

A group of creatures - smaller demons - were now circling around Anna.

Clary cried out, “I’m here!”

Anna didn’t turn towards her, but she nodded, and then sent out a wave of fire magic out towards the creatures. They scurried back, but inched closer again. Their pincers were like dagger blades, and Clary flinched back, almost glad that she was high above them.

Anna called out, “Clary, don’t watch this! I need you to lay down.” She cried out as a demon lunged for her. Anna exploded it into a thousand tiny pieces of sparks and blood, and Clary felt another sob escape her body.

She couldn’t move. Her feet were rooted to the floor as she watched the scene in horror.

And then it happened.

The warlock began to glow. Her lips were moving fast, but Clary could not hear the words coming out. She was too far above the ground.

At first, it was a gentle glow; a lovely elegant colour of pale pink. Suddenly, it pulsed with violent shaking, and Anna’s body trembled. Clary could feel the power of the spell like a second heartbeat. It was being cast on her, and the tower, and she could feel the change coming. But she still didn’t turn away.

The demons did not attack, and Clary realised then that whatever spell Anna was casting was keeping them at bay.

Clary’s eyes widened in horror as the pulse of magic turned to fire; the flames coating the warlock’s body entirely as she stood; her arms held out and her head tilted back. Her lips were still moving, but her eyes were shut tightly, fighting against the pain. The glow grew so bright that it hurt Clary’s eyes.

“ANNA!” She cried out. She wanted to rush out and stop the warlock, for she suddenly knew with a sickening realisation that Anna was not just giving up her magic, but her life. The spell was so powerful that she needed to use every ounce of her energy, strength and life force. As if she were suddenly in a dream, Clary’s world faded to silence. She stepped, numbly, towards the bed. She climbed up onto it and settled.

The spell’s force danced into her heart. She could feel it wrapping hands around her entire body; keeping her sheltered and protected against any dark force her father might send after her.

She didn’t fight back. She would not let her mother, or Anna’s lives, be taken for nothing.

As a powerful sleep began to come over her, Clary let the last tear fall.

This was not her end.

This was her beginning.

~

_Present_

“Who are you?” The alpha snarled. His brown eyes suddenly turned a striking shade of green, and they narrowed as he watched Isabelle. “Who sent you here?”

Around him, the pack settled into an attack formation; their shoulders hunched and their lips pulled back into snarls.

The alpha’s expression was one that Alec knew well, for he had seen it on his knights’ more times than he could count. The werewolf was being protective. He was not simply being defensive, he was challenging their presences in the Shadowlands, and if Alec was honest, he could find no reason to fault the man’s worries.

After all, he was a mortal in the Shadowlands.

And after what had just happened with Helen, and the strange, red-eyed wolf, Alec felt there were more surprises still to come.

Stamping down on the urge to draw his bow, Alec kept his fists by his sides and was the first to speak. “N-no one.” He said, loudly. He ignored the slight quiver in his voice. “In the name of the Angel, I swear it.”

The pack were watching Isabelle with such intensity that Alec held out an arm, carefully pushing her back towards Magnus and Elias.

“Swear by something I believe in.” The alpha demanded. His tall frame loomed over Alec, and although all the books he had read on werewolves informed him that they were savage and dangerous creatures, Alec still felt himself bristle with shame at the man’s next words:

“Your Angels do not look so kindly on downworlders.”

Hurt dug its claws unhelpfully into Alec. It was a sudden feeling, and one that confused him.

Why did it surprise him that the alpha, and his pack, were hostile towards them?

Had Alec expected peace from a race that his kind had treated with disdain?

He pushed aside his worries. There was another, much greater, issue at hand. His sister was still the target of a very powerful pack, and Alec knew they needed to explain as quickly as possible that they were not here to hunt or harm them.

Logic commanded that Alec start with introductions. If he ruled by his parents’ ideas, Alec would have demanded that the werewolf speak first, but Alec felt that the situation was tense enough as it was, without adding royal degrees.

So he held out a hand, extending it in what he hoped was a formal greeting. “I am Alec Lightwood, of Idris. I am leading a quest through the Shadowlands to reach the island of Alicrate. My companions and I,” Alec nodded to the group anxiously waiting behind him.

From the corner of his eye, he also noticed then that Magnus was a lot closer than before, his hands hovering in the air and his eyes golden and unhidden. He wanted the werewolves to see his mark; to know his power, and to know not to harm Alec.

The alpha did not move. He simply gazed at Alec, and then around at the group. His gaze lingered on Magnus, and his expression turned to one of confusion. “Are you here by choice, warlock? Do you need our assistance in freeing yourself from these people?”

Magnus shook his head. “As entertaining as it would be to see Jace have his throat torn out-“

“Hey.” Jace protested. His hand wrapped around his throat protectively. “Leave my lovely neck alone.”

“What was that creature?” Lydia suddenly asked.

The alpha and his pack turned towards her, the question causing a ripple of nervous energy throughout the clearing. Alec felt the werewolves speaking to each other; not with words, but with expressions that went beyond mortal understanding.

Momentarily distracted, the alpha gestured for his pack to stand down. They relaxed at their leader’s command, but still kept a wary distance; even from Magnus, who was watching the exchange quietly.

“That, Alec, was a demon.” The alpha finally revealed.

Silence greeted the group. It was a revelation that toyed with their fears; reminding them of nightmares and storybook legends that kings and queens lost their kingdoms to. They thought of the hell below their feet; a hell that, until now, had seemed unreachable.

_Impossible_.

If demons were once again threatening the land, who was opening portals?

Alec thought then of the disbanded sorcerers; the ones who had stood behind Valentine the night of the castle attack. Could it be that those sorcerers were trying to raise demons again? Were they planning a much larger attack that would not be so easy to stop this time?

Or was it something new?

“Can you pretend that it’s the first demon you’ve ever seen?” Jace asked, flashing a tense grin. “I would like to live in ignorant bliss for another day.”

“I’m afraid not.” The alpha snorted, and it was such an amused, human gesture that Alec almost smiled himself.

He reminded himself that werewolves were, like all downworlders, half human. It was a truth often left out of fairy tales and stories, and one that made it easy to create hatred when the whole truth was kept hidden; tucked away in the folds of ancient books that were locked away in libraries.

“How did your friend know Clary’s name?” The alpha asked again. His voice had lost its edge, but there was still tension in it. It was enough for Alec to know not to test him with trickery and lies.

“I have no idea.” Alec said honestly.

The alpha frowned. “But she said-“

“Her name. Yes. We were all there.” Jace interrupted. He was standing beside Isabelle, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin. “She has a good explanation, I’m sure.” He glanced at Izzy. “You do, right?”

Unable to argue with his best friend’s question, Alec turned to Isabelle, equally at loss for an explanation.

How _did_ his sister known the name of a girl in a tower? And why had she collapsed so suddenly beforehand?

Alec studied Isabelle for a moment. She no longer looked pale or fragile, as she had done when he’d cradled her in her arms and begged her silently to wake up. The thought of losing Isabelle had created a chasm inside Alec’s heart, splintering it violently. After what had happened with Helen, Alec knew that if Isabelle was injured – or worse – then he would give up on this foolish quest and admit defeat.

His sister was more important than a legendary Cup and his own confused heart.

Alec took Izzy’s hand in his own. He held it gently, circling his thumb over her knuckles. “Isabelle.” He called out to her, quietly. “Come back to us. Please. Help us.”

Izzy turned her head towards him, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her expression was torn between shock and fear, but also joy; as if missing pieces were stitching themselves together inside her mind.

“Please will you give her a moment?” Alec asked the alpha.

When his eyes narrowed again, Alec quickly held out a hand and asked, “What is your name…sir?”

“Sir.” The alpha gave a deep chuckle. The sharp line of his jaw softened as he smiled. “It has been a long while since I heard that term. You must live in a castle, yes?”

Before Alec could answer, the alpha held out his hand and took Alec’s in his; shaking it for a moment, and then letting go. His palm was cool and soft, and his grip was firm. “I am Luke. Luke Garroway. This here is Alaric, my second-in-command, and my pack.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. I mean, Luke.” Alec corrected himself with an awkward laugh. If his mother could see him now, stumbling in-front of downworlders, she would summon him back instantly and likely never speak to him again.

Luke folded his arms across his chest, the movement causing the fabric of his robes to stretch taunt around his forearms.

Alec tore his eyes away from Luke’s arms quickly, and was thankful when the alpha spoke; cutting off his insecurities.

“What are a group of high-bred mortals doing in the Shadowlands then?” Luke asked. His voice was cool, but once again laced with danger; as if he had dipped the ink of his words into power. “And how does this one,” He pointed to Isabelle. “, know the name of a sleeping girl locked inside a tower?”

Fortunately, Magnus chose that moment to swoop in and save Alec, and the rest of the knights, from answering. He cleared his throat pointedly, commanding everyone’s attention in a single moment

“Luke, forgive the interruption,” Magnus began smoothly. “I am Magnus Bane. Warlock of Ash Tower. As delightful as this mystery is, may I suggest we talk elsewhere?” His voice lowered. “The Shadowlands has changed since I have been here, and I feel it’s not safe out here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere. Not anymore.” Luke said. The alpha’s expression was still wary around Magnus, but it was less openly so than before, and Alec wondered if there were disputes between downworlders as well as a divide between mortals and creatures of magic.

“Hm, I can see that.” Magnus looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Since when do demons possess werewolves? And what was it after?” Magnus winced. “Besides one of our knights.”

Alec felt himself flinch at the reminder of the horror of seeing Helen being dragged across the forest. They had all been helpless against the beast. And he remembered that it was Luke and his pack who had leaped to the rescue.

He was about to stumble out his gratitude when Luke spoke.

“You really do not know?”

No one replied. Magnus shook his head, and his expression was solemn.

Alec felt anticipation crackle around the air.

The alpha looked up at the tower, and then back at the group. His next words were a revelation that would change everything.

Unbeknown to Alec, his knights, and Magnus, Luke’s declaration would spark an adventure bigger than a simple quest. It would spark a journey unlike anything they had ever hoped, or feared, would come true. It would change lives and destroy lives too; but it was a destiny that none of them could hide from, or escape.

“Demons have returned to the land.” Luke revealed. “At first, we thought it was insignificant. Magic is unpredictable, and the Shadowlands is even more so. But then downworlders started to disappear. Warlocks, faeries, werewolves. Even spirits started to fade away, and then disappear completely.”

“And none of them returned?” Lydia asked.

Luke sighed. “And there begins our second twist in the tale. The ones that returned were…changed. Not many noticed at first as we tend to stick to our own groups, but then we kept hearing familiar reports of attacks. And then one of our own disappeared. Tristan.”

Luke paused, rubbing a hand across his forehead. His expression grew angry. “The Tristan that returned to us was not the one that left. He was possessed by a powerful, dark force. One that we had never seen, or felt, before. The red eyes were the final clue.”

“The final clue for what?”

Luke looked at them all, one by one. “That someone is opening portals again. Someone, or something, is letting demons back into our land.”

“So downworlders disappear, and the ones that return are demonised?" Jace summarised. "This sounds pleasant." He turned to his friend and muttered, "Alec, do choose an easier quest next time.”

“Why?” Alaric sneered. “So you can ignore our suffering while you play at ruling in your castle?”

Luke shot him a look of warning. “Easy. We know better than to judge.”

There was a pause then, and Jace cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was selfish.” Jace admitted. His expression turned into a frown. “But Helen is not a downworlder. Why did the demon go after her?”

Luke shrugged. “Usually, mortals do not venture into the Shadowlands. You and your friends here are the first in a long time.” The alpha’s lips twitched. “Perhaps the demon thought she was someone else.”

“A demon with poor eyesight?” Jace snorted. “Now _that’s_ just inexcusable.”

“Enough joking.” Isabelle suddenly cried.

Until now, she had been so still and quiet, that Alec had almost forgotten she was standing right beside him. His sister’s voice was a plea, and he held her hand tighter.

Isabelle tugged her hand from his grasp, pointing up to the small window at the top of the tower. The coiled whip around her arm glistened under the high sun. “We have to wake up Clary. She can help us!”

Alec stared at her blankly. “Who?”

“Clary Fairchild.” Luke answered for her. “Which is why I’m still at a lost. Clary never left the villages in Idris. She never stepped a foot inside the castle…” He broke off, clearly lost in thought.

Alec was turning his words over, trying to make sense and put the connections together. But without the full information, he was coming up short.

All he knew was that Clary Fairchild, whatever she, or it, was, was causing them a lot of trouble.

“So how _do_ you know of her?” Luke finished. He had walked them out of the middle of the clearing, to a large hut that was positioned just behind the tower. Alec stood beside Isabelle, with Jace and Lydia to her left, and Magnus and Elias were standing behind. They hovered, not quite entering the hut, but not walking away from it either.

Briefly, Alec met Magnus’ eyes, and a spark of fear flooded his body.

_Oh._

Was Magnus still planning on leaving-?

Isabelle chose that moment to, at last, confess, and her words were strange enough to pull Alec away from Magnus.

“I dream about her.” Isabelle said quietly. “I don’t know how, or why, but Clary calls to me. She has done for a long time and...”

Isabelle broke off with a sigh. She looked around at the group. “Trust me on this, we need to wake Clary up. We have to. She can help.”

“Yes, you said that.” Alec muttered, and then felt bad.

It wasn’t Isabelle’s fault that their quest had suddenly been cast aside in the midst of demons and werewolves and sleeping girls in dark towers. But Alec felt the frustration – the _helplessness_ – rile his nerves. They needed a plan of sorts, and no one was coming up with something. How could Alec lead when all he had to go on was dreams and werewolves with secrets of their own?

“Waking her is what we all need. I…can’t explain it, but I know that Clary is a part of this. If we wake her-“

“How?” Alec demanded. If there was a strange person, or creature, in a tower calling to his sister, there was no way Alec was going to wake it up. “And why is this the first time I am hearing about your dreams?” He asked, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest.

Isabelle didn’t take the bait. She met his scowl with a sharp look. “Because I thought they were just that. Dreams. Vivid ones, but still; just dreams.” She ran a hand across her arm, touching her coiled whip in an act of comfort. “But…the one I had earlier, that was more like a memory.”

“When you collapsed?” Alec asked. He was trying to work out how a girl in a tower had been sharing dreams with his little sister. It pained him to know that for all these years, he could have been oblivious to Isabelle’s suffering.

“Yes, but it didn’t hurt. I’m fine, Alec.” Isabelle’s voice softened as she noticed her brother’s concern. “Really, I am. I think…because I was closer, the dream came on suddenly. In it, Clary told me her name, and I felt sure that…she is a part of everything we are fighting for.”

“My dear,” Magnus’ voice was close to Alec’s ear, and he shivered at the gentleness in his words.

The warlock stepped around the prince and looked at Isabelle. “Would you describe the dreams to me? Anything that stands out to you; the emotions, the feelings.” The dust around his eyes was still a pale gold, and Alec realised that it matched the soft colours of the risen sun.

Isabelle nodded. She closed her eyes, scrunching her face a little in concentration. “It is almost like a cord. A thread.” She said slowly. “It is as though something is tugging inside my mind and calling me towards here. Towards Clary. And every time I dream, I can feel Clary on the other end of the thread. We hold onto the cord and…dream. Together.” Isabelle whispered the last word a little too intimately for Alec’s liking.

He cleared his throat and muttered, “What else?”

Isabelle opened her eyes, the lines of her forehead smoothing out. “When I wake up, it always seems less real. But when I close my eyes, she’s there. And…I think she needs my help.”

“It makes sense.” Magnus murmured to himself. He tapped a finger against his chin, lost in thought.

“Does it?” Jace asked, incredulously. “Because Isabelle having dreams about a fair maiden who turns out to be real is something that happens every day. Why does that not happen to me?” He finished with a small sigh of disappointment. His eyes met Lydia’s briefly, and she looked away; the tips of her ears a pretty pink.

“They were not ordinary dreams, my naïve knight.” Magnus quipped with a smirk.

Jace rolled his eyes at the epithet.

“Clary was using your energy, Isabelle. She was using your strength to form a connection between the two of you.”

“But how?” Lydia asked. “That sounds…”

“Magical.” Alec finished bluntly. He felt his shoulders tense, bracing himself to hear something he didn’t want to.

“Clary, whoever she is, has a gift. A rare one.”

“She’s mortal.” Luke quickly defended. He had been quiet, listening carefully to the group, but at Clary’s name, he stepped forward. “She…had a unique upbringing, but I can promise you; Clary Fairchild is born of two mortal parents.”

“Then she is even more of an exception.” Magnus said. He was smiling. “Clary knew that forming a connection would be necessary for breaking the spell, or at least weakening it slightly.”

Alec hid a groan. “What spell?” He reluctantly asked. Not only was there a sleeping – and very troublesome – girl in the tower, but there was also a spell to break?

Again, Luke answered for them. He spoke slowly, and Alec knew that there was much that he was still concealing from them. If he was guarding Clary, then it meant that the girl was important to him.

“A warlock cast a spell on the tower.” Luke said. “When I received a note from…her mother…” Luke said carefully. He hesitated, and then continued. “All we know is that the spell keeps out the demons that come hunting for her. It keeps out everyone. For some reason, they have begun to sense her presence.”

Alec was about to ask for more details, when he caught the look of dread on Magnus’ face. The warlock seemed to be in shock, and his words were so quiet that Alec barely caught them.

“Do you know the warlock’s name?”

Luke hesitated again, but then he must have heard the same desperation in Magnus’ voice that Alec had; the same fear that Alec wished he could erase. He knew something was about to hurt Magnus. He could feel it in the air like a knife waiting to be thrown.

And it was aiming directly into Magnus’ heart.

“Anna. Anna Shade.”

Magnus stumbled back, his knees colliding with a low table.

He gripped it, closing his eyes. A quiet hush fell over the room, until the only sounds were the quiet footsteps of the pack lingering outside.

Alec slowly stepped around the others, stopping just in-front of Magnus. He waited until Magnus’ fingers loosened from their tight grasp.

He asked, as kindly as he could, “Did you know her well?”

When Magnus opened his eyes, they were glistening with tears. They had returned to their natural, golden colour, shining even more so. The warlock wiped them away using the back of his sleeve, and then pushed himself up. It was a quick move, but Alec saw the expression on Magnus’ face. It was a resigned look. It was someone who was tired of losing loved ones, and yet was still surprised when it happened.

So it surprised the prince when Magnus answered with, “I only knew Anna a little. But…it makes sense. I tried reaching out for her magic once, but I could no longer feel it. She was a good person.” Magnus said fiercely.

Alec feared for anyone who went up against Magnus’ loved ones. If this was how he reacted to the death of someone he hardly knew, what would losing family feel like to Magnus? What would losing the love of his love feel like?

Because, Alec realised then, all life was important to Magnus. As much as he tried to hide behind his dramatics and his quick remarks, Magnus cared. He cared about those around him; mortal or otherwise.

Before Alec had time to stammer out words of comfort, Magnus had once again stood to his full height.

“How did she die?” Magnus inquired. He didn’t look at Alec, but he did stand a little closer now, as if he wanted to stay by his side a while longer.

Luke looked apologetic. He shook his head. “Forgive me, Magnus, I don’t know entirely myself. But…she helped Clary.”

“She did more than help her,” Magnus said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned towards the castle, lifting a hand and waving it through the air. His fingers curved as if they were plucking a lute. “She gave her life for this spell.” Magnus said, lowering his hand again. “Why? Who is Clary Fairchild, and why is she worth such a powerful protection spell?”

Alec held his breath, waiting. He could feel his knights beside him, also waiting. The clearing behind them was tingling with the power of the spell, and it was now tingling with anticipation as well.

“That is not my place to tell.” Luke said. He looked apologetic, but also grateful. He was definitely concealing an important truth from them, and Alec didn’t want to stay a moment longer unless it was necessary.

So Alec forced himself to lock eyes with the werewolf. “Then we will not help you wake her.”

Even Magnus looked unwilling to help. “I agree. And forgive me for saying so, but it is my magic you will need to wake her up. Do share with us the tale of Clary Fairchild.”

“Not out here in the open. Return to our village, and I will. More demons might be seeking out Clary, and we have to dispose of the body before they track it once more.” Luke nodded to the nearest members of his pack. “Alaric, Jordan, take care of the body as quickly as you can. Stay and guard the tower.”

“I don’t mean to cause a panic,” Jace said. “But how are we going to break the spell? Didn’t you just say that Anna gave her _life_ to cast it? Forgive my limited mortal knowledge, but surely it requires a similar sacrifice to counteract it?”

Magnus’ lips twitched. He almost looked proud. “Hidden depth after all, Wayland. And yes, you are quite correct. If anyone has any bright ideas, please astonish us.”

Everyone pondered this in quiet reflection, and then Elias lifted his chin in his friend’s direction. “I have an idea. It might not work.” He said to Magnus. His wings were folded against his back, but the tips still brushed the roof of the hut. “What if…we don’t break the spell, but simply portal inside?”

“Ah, yes. Simply portal inside and break through an incredibly powerful spell.” Magnus said dryly. “I am powerful, but not powerful enough to survive creating such a portal. Elias, thank you for your attempted wisdom but-“

“Hold on.” Elias said quietly. “You said that Clary has been communicating with Isabelle in her dreams to create a connection, yes? And that she is gifted? Perhaps we can create a portal using all of our different strengths....”

Magnus’ eyes widened as he caught Elias’ trail of thought. He clicked his fingers together, a loud snap echoing around the hut. He smiled at his friend. “I can work with that. Perhaps. If Isabelle indeed has a connection to the girl, and so do you?” He looked at Luke, raising an eyebrow. “I understand that you do not wish to reveal how you know Clary, but you clearly care enough to guard her against demons. Yes?”

“I have memories of her, but they are from long ago; when she was a child. The Clary who is in the tower is likely very different from the Clary I knew.”

“It doesn’t matter. Love, in all its forms, is powerful.”

Luke was silent, but a smile touched his lips. He nodded. “Then, yes. I will offer whatever strength you need.”

“Then we can try and create a portal inside. Hopefully the spell will fold in on itself; collapse, so to speak. It might wake Clary.”

“Isabelle, are you certain that Clary can help us?”

“She can help everyone, Alec. I know this is beyond explanation, but…”

Hey, I trust you.” Alec said. Although he was unsure about all of this, he knew that there was something bigger going on; something that tied everything together. And this was the beginning.

They needed to find out why Clary had been reaching out to Isabelle.

And why any of this related to their quest, and the disappearances of the downworlders.

_Don’t forget the returning of demons,_ Alec reminded himself dryly.

“That is our decision then?” Magnus asked. “Unless I try breaking the spell on my own, but that could drain my life force and-“

“That is not an option.” Alec dismissed quickly. He tried, and likely failed, to wipe the stern expression off his face. He didn’t want to command Magnus, but there was absolutely no way he was going to let him recklessly fight against a powerful protection spell.

Magnus quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why, thank you, Alexander.” His eyes grew distant. “I do not wish to die either. So, we are going to bend the spell, and hope that it breaks. Or wakes Clary. Are we in agreement?”

Everyone nodded, some more reluctantly than others. Alec was one of them, still unsure that this entire plan was going to end in wasted time. He was eager to head onto the Seelie Court, and to make sure that Helen could be healed. They didn’t need to be wasting time over a sleeping girl who may or may not have the answers they needed about demons seeking out downworlders.

“I don’t like this idea.” Alec admitted. “This spell risks too much. And for all we know, this whole thing is a trap. If demons really are running around the Shadowlands, shouldn’t we find out why?”

“Clary can help with that.” Isabelle insisted. “I promise.”

Lydia scoffed. “Is she your best friend now?” She rolled her eyes, and Alec hid a smile. It was nice, as always, to look to Lydia for sensible reactions. But the jealousy that was hidden in her expression made Alec feel guilty.

Beside her, Jace was watching her with open admiration. “Envy looks good on you, Branwell.” He murmured, winking at the frowning knight.

Lydia tossed her ponytail back, still narrowing her eyes at Isabelle. The only difference now was that a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

Jace quietly added, “You wear anything well.”

But Lydia had stepped away, and only Alec heard, and he was forced to watch his best friend’s face fall.

He frowned, small moments between the two replaying in his mind. When had Jace started looking at Lydia in the same way he used to look at the stars? It was with the same irreplaceable awe and respect that Jace watched Lydia step away, and Alec felt guilty that he had not noticed it sooner.

But how could he notice Jace’s feelings when Alec never looked to his own heart for direction?

“Elias, what about seeking out the Ancient Oak, to ask for more magic? Does the Guild still protect the tree’s power?”

Magnus’ sentence cut swiftly through Alec’s thoughts, and he blinked a couple of times before refocusing.

Elias nodded. “We do.”

A proud smile spread across Magnus’ face as he watched his friend. “ _We_?” Magnus repeated.

As if they were in their own, small world, Elias returned the smile warmly and nodded. “I was chosen by the Guild after the last moon cycle. It is an honour to be a part of them, and…” He looked down at the floor and finished, a little sadly, “I do not feel as lonely anymore.”

“I understand.” Magnus touched his cheek tenderly.

The two warlocks stood like that briefly, until Jace coughed deliberately. “So,” He said, loudly. “Would anyone care to explain what the Guild is?”

The moment broken, Magnus turned to face the group and explained, “A powerful ring of warlocks who inhabit a settlement close to the Ancient Oak. It is a source of great magic, very old. The Guild guards its power and shares its source of magic with each other, and the land. Their light magic has always been a strength to us all.”

Jace held up a hand, counting as he spoke. “So we have warlocks, who are good, but dramatic. We then have sorcerers, who are dark and dangerous. And now the Guild, who really like trees. Anymore?” Jace rolled his eyes.

“Careful.” Magnus warned him. “You would not like it if I started referring to you all as ‘human’. I have learned to distinguish between your kind, and you must do the same for mine.” His jaw clenched angrily when he added, “If you have any respect at all.”

Jace began to suddenly pay very close attention to the floor.

Realising that he had succeeded in scolding the knight, Magnus turned to Elias. “The journey is a less than half a day’s ride, yes?”

The winged warlock nodded. “But I am a part of the Guild, I should come with you…”

Magnus shook his head firmly. “No, my friend. I need you to stay and protect my company.” He insisted. His expression was calm, but Alec could sense the warlock’s unease forming a quiet aura around his usual mask of confidence.

Magnus sighed. “With Catarina absent, I cannot leave my company without a warlock’s protection.”

He turned to Luke, holding out his hands to the werewolf in inquiry. “Luke, would you care for my companions until I have returned? We will do our best to wake Clary Fairchild, I promise you, but I need to strengthen my magic. I cannot hope to create a portal without the Oak.” He spoke wisely, and Alec knew that Luke would sense it too. At least, he hoped he would.

Magnus sighed again, running a finger across the tip of his ear. “In the meantime, I suggest you fill the others in on why demons may be after our mysterious maiden. Do you think you could share at least that? It is in all of our best interests, I assure you. If you are speaking the truth, then demons are after downworlders. They are attacking our _home_ , Luke.” Magnus pleaded softly, but surely. “We must learn to trust each other or we will lose this battle.”

After a long pause – and it was such a long time that Alec almost lost track of the conversation entirely – Luke nodded. “I can do that.”

As the werewolf turned away from the group, and made his way outside again, Alec realised he had been unhelpfully silent throughout the entire exchange. New information was pouring into his mind, crashing through the carefully built gates of the mortal world. There were demons in the Shadowlands, which likely meant that sorcerers were rising again. There was a girl hidden inside a tower that could help them on their quest. There was a werewolf pack that guarded her. His sister was dreaming about the sleeping maiden.

Alec debated about sitting down, right there in the middle of the hut.

“So, we are in agreement.” Magnus announced. He clapped his hands together for effect. “I will ride out to the Guild and-“

“No!” Alec cried out. Before he could stop himself, the words had bubbled up and spilled into the air. They left fear and confusion all around him.

Magnus looked at him in clear surprise.

As Jace, Isabelle and Lydia joined the warlock in staring at him, Alec quickly shook himself into action and ran through the idea that had formed in his mind. A foolish idea, but one that he couldn’t let slip. Out of all of the things that had been revealed to him that day, Alec knew that this was something he _could_ control.

Alec lifted his chin. “I’m coming with you.” He declared, pushing his quiver up onto his shoulder.

Magnus’ eyes narrowed in a heartbeat. “No, you are _not_.”

Alec folded his arms across his chest. If the warlock wanted to be stubborn, then the prince could match that with ease.

Whatever it took, he was going with him to the Guild.

They locked eyes for such a long time that Jace cleared his throat. He held out a hand between them, diverting their attention. “For once, I agree with the warlock.” He admitted, very begrudgingly. “Alec, you’re not leaving. That is final.”

He shrugged when Alec glared at him, his eyes hardening at Jace’s betrayal. “Sorry, buddy.” Jace said. “I’m not letting you go riding off into danger. Not without me there to swoop in and save your hide.”

“There will be no need for swooping.” Alec retorted. He held up a hand to Jace, warning him against saying another word. His friend grounded his teeth together, but remained silent.

Alec turned back to Magnus and did his best to appear assertive. “And I was not asking for permission.”

Something flashed in the warlock’s eyes, and if he wasn’t currently being held under their fierce glare, Alec might have believed it was pride. Magnus almost looked impressed as he watched Alec, his lips tugging up at the corners and his eyes crinkling with hidden amusement.

“Well?” Alec asked. “Do you want me to command you?” He challenged. Perhaps he was being difficult and childish, but Alec didn’t care. He was not going to let his guide wander alone in a land that was currently under attack by demons. Demons who were targeting his kind.

Magnus did, in fact, smile that time. “Do you want me to spell you?” He teased, waving a hand and wiggling his fingers at the prince. If it was supposed to be a threat, his beaming smile made it anything but.

Alec stood his ground. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.” Magnus murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky sound. It was like honey mixed with spice, Alec randomly thought.

He watched then as the warlock’s expression softened. The teasing left his voice completely. “I am trying to protect you, Alec.” Magnus said. “If you stay here, you have the protection of Luke’s pack, Elias, and your trusty knights. If you come with me, all I can offer you is my own skills. I’m not normally one to downplay my talents, but in the Shadowlands, there is darkness even I cannot shield you from.”

“My brother has a point.” Isabelle suddenly spoke up. “You have great power, Magnus, but you should not go alone. Not when demons are out there, attacking downworlders and possessing them.”

Alec shot her a grateful look, and she smiled. It was easier for Isabelle to speak her mind, and her worries. For some reason, Alec felt it was too personal to reveal his own worries to Magnus.

“Thank you for that reminder.” Magnus muttered, but he rubbed his forehead and sighed in surrender. “Mortals and their noble hearts.”

“I think - and stop me if I’m wrong - that was compliment.” Jace exclaimed.

“Perhaps.” Magnus admitted. He looked at Alec again, trying one last time to convince him otherwise. “Alec, please. You do not need to come along to protect me-“

“I also want to see the Guild.” Alec announced.

Once again, everyone turned to stare at him in surprise.

“You do?” Magnus asked.

Alec nodded, keeping his expression placid. “It is important to warlocks, yes?” He said, matter-of-factly. When Elias nodded, a small smile touching the warlock’s lips, Alec hurried on, hoping to quickly move on. “See? A future king should be aware of this. I am doing my duty, nothing more.”

Alec praised his quick thinking. It was a decent, and half-true, confession.

He really did want to see the Guild, as well as make sure nothing harmed Magnus on the journey.

But he had also wanted to push himself, and to explore more of the lands that he’d promised to see with new eyes. He reminded himself that the quest was about more than a mythical Cup. It was about exploring the Shadowlands and seeing if there was more to the legends, and more behind the fear.

“A mortal king interested in downworlder customs? These are indeed strange times.” Magnus said. He smiled at Alec. “Very well.”

As they stepped outside, back into the open clearing that housed the tower, Alec blinked at the bright sun. It glistened, creating light even on the eerie, black tower.

His eyes were drawn to where Jace was now standing in-front of Magnus. The knight was standing close to Magnus, his fingers toying with his chainmail belt.

“If anything happens to him…” Jace trailed off, glancing at Alec, and then back.

“You will do what? Charm me to death?” Magnus asked sweetly.

To everyone’s surprise, Jace didn’t bite back a retort. He didn’t even look angered. He simply whispered, “Please.”

But it was all Jace needed to say. Alec could hear the fear, and the agony of parting. He felt it himself too; the bond between them straining with desire to stay by each other’s side.

Magnus placed a hand on the knight’s forearm, his expression no longer taunting. “I will bring your friend back, unharmed.” He promised quietly.

“Thank you.” Jace inclined his head graciously. He hesitated, half turning. With a sigh, he turned back and slowly slid out a large dagger from the belt around his waist. He held it out to the warlock. “This is one of my best blades.” Jace announced proudly. “Her name is Ferox.”

“It means fierce.” Magnus said.

Jace nodded in agreement. “Something we share.” He said quietly.

Magnus smirked. “Did you just…?” He turned to Isabelle, who was standing a little further away and watching the tower. “Did he just admit we have something in common?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jace scoffed, but his expression was still open and trusting. “Jace Wayland has a heart after all.” His smile lost all of its playfulness when he glanced over at Alec and finished, “Don’t lose it, will you?”

Magnus patted Jace’s arm again and smiled. “Thank you. I will take good care of it.”

He took the blade and studied it for a moment, before flicking his wrist and twirling the blade gingerly. He spun it through the air, his face scrunching up in concentration. After a while, his movements became more confident, and he slid the blade into the small sash around his waist. He called to his horse, and began to secure the saddle; leaving Alec to turn to his sister.

Alec cleared his throat, and Isabelle tore her eyes away from the tower long enough to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close. She hugged him tightly, her hair tickling his chin softly.

“Today has thrown enough horrors at us already.” Alec said. “Please be careful, Izzy. I can’t…I _won’t_ lose you.” He pulled back, still holding her in his arms. He felt tears spring to his eyes. “Isabelle, promise me that you will wait until we have returned.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course. And you must promise to take care. Also…” She glanced down at her boots, kicking the grass sheepishly. “I am sorry if I frightened you, Alec. Before, I mean.”

“When you passed out in my arms?” Alec teased, but he sobered quickly when he saw the look of guilt on Isabelle’s face.

She sighed. “This is complicated, but Alec, I swear to you that Clary is an important asset to our quest. She can help.” Isabelle insisted.

“Because you share dreams?” Alec teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes, but glanced up at the tower. Her eagerness pushed Alec into moving. He kissed the top of her head, unashamed to love her so openly in-front of everyone.

Let the darkness see how much he loved Isabelle. Let it try and tear them apart.

Alec was fierce in his certainty that he would fight until his last breath to protect her.

Just as he was about to mount his horse and join Magnus, Alec quickly remembered something else. He lowered his voice to Izzy and said, “I need you to send a note back to the castle. Inform them about the Shadowlands, and the demons.”

Izzy’s eyes widened. “You want to inform mother and father?”

“No.” Alec shook his head. “Not for now. Not until we know everything. We do not need to start a panic throughout the kingdom.”

Izzy smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…I’m proud of you.”

“Oh.” Alec blinked in surprise. Affectionate warmed his anxieties, keeping some of the fear at bay. “Ask your bookkeeper friend…uh….”

“Simon?”

“Yes, him. Ask Simon and Theresa to find out anything and everything they can about demons, and if they have any alliances to sorcerers.”

“You think…they might be planning something?”

Alec chewed his lower lip for a moment, thinking. “All we know is that demons are suddenly appearing. Which means someone, or a group, are summoning them. What we need to find out is why. Also, inform Will, James and Raphael that we need to start preparing.”

“For what?” Izzy’s eyes widened. “Alec, you don’t think…” She flinched. “A war? We can’t hope to survive a war against demons.”

“Which is why we need allies. We need people to call upon.”

“You need magic.” Magnus said loudly. He had pulled his horse up beside them, glancing down at the pair with a smile. “Write to Ragnor Fell. He is an old friend. Tell your knights to find him. He is older than me, but no more powerful,” Magnus added with a wink. “Perhaps he might be able to spread the word.”

Luke appeared from the other side of the clearing then, and made his way over to the group. He waited until Alec was mounted on his horse and then said, “I know I have given you no reason to trust me, but…the Lady Isabelle was chosen by Clary, and that’s good enough for me.”

Alec smiled, pleased. “As much information as you can give us will be welcome.” Alec told him. He understood that Luke was wary of them, and was protecting Clary, but they really needed to start aligning the pieces. They needed to connect the demons, and Clary, and Luke. And how it all linked into their quest.

As he anxiously clicked his heels against the horse, Alec slowly rode out of the clearing and down a long, forest pathway. He looked back, just once, and saw Jace, Isabelle and Lydia watching the pair leave.

He forced himself to focus on the road ahead.

And the warlock by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter didn't have much malec, but the part 2 is ALL malec, so I hope it makes amends ;)  
> What did you make of Luke, and the demons?   
> It would seem that our knights are realising there's a whole lot more going on in the Shadowlands. Yikes!  
> Let me know your thoughts, and which scenes you liked! :)  
> Part 2 will be up tomorrow!


	6. The Die Is Cast - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST 10K OF MALEC.  
> Enjoy! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, part two of the insanely long chapter that got WAY out of hand.  
> Enjoy, and happy reading! :) xx

“Alec, please may I see your bow?”

“W-why? I mean…is it damaged?” Alec slowed his horse and pulled the bow down from his back. He looked puzzled when he saw the arrowheads were intact, and the bow was still an elegant curve of wood.

But Magnus had not been admiring the carvings. As pretty as the bow was, he had something more important in mind.

“Your weapon will be far easier to kill demons with if you let me enchant it.” Magnus explained. “My magic will make the arrows stronger.”

He let himself speak with pride. It was not often that he viewed his gifts with pleasure, especially not back in Idris. But the morning had been a strange one, and Magnus felt it necessary to create a little happiness.

Alec frowned, still hesitating to hand over his prize bow. “Is that the only way demons can be killed? I thought Luke and his pack-“

“-are downworlders. They have magic in their blood. It’s in their strength.” Magnus thought for a moment. “Besides, I think possessed werewolves can be killed like any other werewolf. Only demons in their true forms are a bugger to destroy. They require a little more…”

Magnus danced his fingers through the air, sparking a blue flame in his open palm. “, kick.” He finished with a grin.

Around them, the path to the Guild was quiet. Elias had told him to take one of the private entrances, which meant taking a shortcut through the inhabited parts of the land. So far, no danger had made itself known, but Magnus still kept his senses on high alert.

The prince hesitated, and Magnus watched – a little too closely – as his tongue slipped out to wet his lower lip. It was a slow, unintentional movement, but one that drew Magnus’ attention to the fullness of his lips, and the slight freckles on Alec’s chin. The quick swallow, and the anxious way his thumb and forefinger rubbed together, showed Magnus that Alec did not want to part with his bow.

And so it surprised him when Alec handed it over to Magnus with a smile, pulling their horses closer together and leaning across.

Magnus held it gently, turning the weapon over in his hands as he spread pulses of magic over it, and the arrows. Like Alec himself, the bow was strong and clearly built for battle, and yet the string was surprisingly soft to the touch. As he ran his magic across it, Magnus felt like he was holding a piece of Alec; an extension of the heart he so rarely put out on display.

The moment he felt his strength flicker in warning, Magnus pulled back. He let the magic sink into the bow, and then ceased his movements.

He carefully held it out to Alec. “There we go.” Magnus said. “One magical bow for a magical prince.” He winked.

Confusion spread across the prince’s handsome face. “I don’t have magic.” Alec said blankly.

_Oh, Alexander._

“That’s not what I…never mind.” Magnus chuckled. He decided that pushing the prince beyond his shyness was not a good idea. Especially with the new knowledge they had of demons living in the Shadowlands once again.

Ever since he had learned of Anna’s death, Magnus had been trying to scrutinise some sort of meaning out of this chaos. He had never seen Luke before, nor had he heard the name Clary Fairchild. So why were demons hunting her, and why had Anna given her life to protect her from something, or someone?

“The Ancient Oak. Is it…ancient? I mean, uh, is it older than you?”

Alec’s voice interrupted his thoughts, but it was a welcome distraction.

Magnus turned to the prince and nodded. “Yes. There are many things in the Shadowlands that are beyond my time. Beyond any sort of time.”

Rows of flowers had begun to border the pathway, and Magnus looked at their vibrant colours, and their slight pulse, and smiled. “When the Angels created the world, they left footprints in the land." He said. "Those footprints became rocks and trees and left traces of magic throughout the land. The remains of their powers became the magic you see today.”

Magnus inclined his head towards Alec, curious to see how he would react. Would he deny that the Angels he and his kind worshipped could offer their magic to Magnus? That they were creatures of light, as well as dark? Angels and demons were less easy to separate. 

Alec’s fingers spread out over the horse’s mane, gently combing the creature as he spoke. “The Angels made you stronger.” The prince finally said. “It’s why my parents believed we should be separated.”

His voice grew distant, and Magnus listened carefully when the prince began again. “I know it seems like it was because of fear, and I’m not ignorant to believe that fear wasn’t a big part of it, but there were other reasons too." Alec said. "You do not see the sun and the moon smile at one another. You do not see snakes and mice shake hands in the fields. Mortals and downworlders are as different as night and day. But…”

Alec paused. “Difference isn’t always a bad thing.” He admitted quietly, and the waver in his voice was unsteady. “I think people are afraid of what they do not understand. I’m guilty of it. We all are. I just…wonder if there’s hope at all for…”

“For what?” Magnus asked. He cursed himself for interrupting, but the prince’s words were too intriguing. Curiosity and hope were two of Magnus’ most joyous pleasures. He could not help but want for goodness in the world, especially in the guise of a prince who could unite their kinds.

“Alexander,” He said, softly. “Tell me, what do you hope for?”

“A new age.”

Alec had spoken so quickly that Magnus forgot to conceal his surprise. Whatever he had been expecting from the prince, it was not that.

And yet, did it truly shock him? To learn that Alexander was seeking peace? He had journeyed into the Shadowlands to complete a quest. That much was certain. But Alec’s eyes contained secrets, and questions, and Magnus felt himself see Alec in a new light. It was a light that was caged inside the prince’s chest, and he had just seen a glimpse of it.

And then Alec’s walls were back up. “I couldn’t be the one to do it. Obviously.” He rushed on. “Who would answer to me?”

There were so many ways to respond to that, and Magnus couldn’t choose. He could feel a scowl waiting to form, to criticise Alec and make him realise the power he had to change the land. But he knew Alec a little better now, and Magnus felt a desire to make him believe, not only in his power, but in himself.

First and foremost, Alec needed to believe that he was worthy of being a leader, and although it was not something anyone could teach him, Magnus hoped that he could help. Even just a fraction.

And so Magnus smiled. “I do. Answer to you, that is. Of my own free will.”

Alec ducked his head, his hair covering his eyes slightly. His smile was shy when he asked, “Why?”

“Why do you think I listen to you?”

“The jewels?”

Magnus’ frown came out of hiding. “What jewels?” He asked, puzzled.

Alec looked at him, looking equally as confused. “The ones we are going to pay you. For your services, and guidance.” He paused, waiting for Magnus to speak. When he didn’t, the prince’s eyes widened. “Do you really not remember your own terms?”

“Of course I do.” Magnus lied smoothly. In all honesty, he had quite forgotten. What did a few more jewels make in comparison to the journey he had been on? In the slow friendships forming? Magnus’ heart cared for companions, and his compassion had chosen this path for him.

He had never needed, or wanted, more jewels; only to hear laughter once again, and to feel wanted.

He briefly thought of Anna, and her sacrifice to protect another, and wondered if that was Magnus' own destiny. Was he doomed to die for someone he loved?

Magnus quickly packed those thoughts away for another day.

He did not need to dwell on mortality, not when the prince of Idris was patiently awaiting an answer from him.

“Wealth aside, Alec,” He waved a hand in dismissal. “I told you on the faerie bridge that I sensed our paths were supposed to cross. I want to see where they lead.” He paused, letting Alec drink in his words; which he was doing so – flatteringly – with his undivided attention.

Magnus beamed. “You really must start believing in yourself more.” He told the prince. “There is darkness too cruel to dwell on in this world. Heartbreak, loss, anger, and fear; just to name a few. But you,” He smiled warmly at Alec. “, can give hope to a lot of people, Your Highness. But you cannot do it without looking to your own heart first.”

Alec reacted to that a little less flatteringly. He flinched as if Magnus had struck him. Or asked him to seek advice from the devil himself. “M-my heart?”

“Yes. What does your heart want?”

Silence.

It stretched around the pair, and even the horses seemed to bristle at the sudden tension. Magnus kept his eyes surveying the path and forest around them, anything to distract himself from the sinking disappointment churning in his gut. He had hoped to bring out more of Alec; to discover his ideas and his dreams.

But perhaps, Magnus thought, he had overstepped. The prince had been through a great deal, and was likely still worried about his friend, Helen, and the sister who was strangely connected to a sleeping girl in a dark tower.

“I’m sorry.” Alec suddenly said. His voice had a hoarse edge to it that struck Magnus as sorrowful.

Unsure, Magnus tilted his head and quietly asked, “For what?”

He hoped that Alec was not apologising for not believing in himself? For being human and making mistakes? If so, then that thought saddened Magnus, for who lived in a world where growing and learning was punished?

Alec fiddled with the sword pummel anxiously. “What I…revealed to you on the bridge. It was the truth, but…I know that it doesn’t make it right. Magnus, I am sorry if I hurt you. Sorcerers and Valentine played an equal part in my brother’s dead.”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he buried it quickly and turned away. “I…no, _we_ , should not blame your kind, or magic, for the blood that was spilled that night.” Alec said gravely. Magnus watched as the prince sighed, and it was a sound of long relief. He had clearly been carrying the weight of his guilt around for a while now.

Magnus was tempted to place a hand on Alec’s shoulder, to comfort him, but he thought that might be too soon, and he desperately did not want to disrupt this new trust forming between them.

Instead, Magnus used his words. “It was a tragedy, Alec. A tragedy that tore the kingdom in half. Valentine was to blame for adding the finishes touches to a divide that had started long ago.”

Once again, Magnus let hope coat his next words like honey. “But, you can start to bridge it. Bit by bit.” He hinted to the prince.

“When I am king?” Alec asked. He looked thoughtful now, and less sheepish.

Magnus shook his head. “No. _Now_.”

When Alec’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, Magnus gestured to the forest all around them. “You are in the Shadowlands, Alec. _You_ , the prince of Idris. You have a warlock as your guide, and are making plans with werewolves and faeries. With demons returning to our land, you can start to unite us all.”

He felt the sun on his cheeks and the soft breeze in the air and knew that Alec could be so much more, if he let himself. Magnus looked at him, studying his strong jaw and black tunic and the corners of his lips tugging up slightly.

“You can give us a cause to work together and put our differences aside.” He said calmly. “Alexander, you are already creating peace. You have treated me with respect, and when you make mistakes, you learn from them. That is admirable.”

“Mistakes deserve punishment.” Alec announced, and with such vigour that Magnus was angry at the people who had raised him. He was angry that someone like Alec, who was kind and shy, had been born into power and yet did not believe in his own strengths. “At least, that’s what I was taught.”

They rounded a corner, and began to travel over a small hill; trees on either side and flowers lining the pathway. It was a little bumpy, and Magnus pointed out the small rocks to avoid.

When they reached the top of the hill, Magnus paused. He turned to Alec, who had pulled his horse up beside him, and said, “Forgive me if I overstep, but in my experience, mistakes have taught me how to survive. It has taught me how to rely on myself, and how to listen to what my heart is telling me.”

Alec licked his lips again, wetting them slightly. He sighed, and with the sun poking out of the trees behind him, the rays made his hazel eyes glow with fierce emotion.

“Heart.” The prince repeated quietly. “Do you not think that it is dangerous, for a prince to look to his heart instead of thinking about his people? To think with emotion, not logic?”

Magnus brushed a hand over his horse, stroking the creature and letting her rest for a moment. Still leaning down to pet her, he glanced up at Alec from beneath his lashes and smiled. “Perhaps the right king would have an understanding of both.”

Overhead, a series of loud cries and birdsongs stretched out into the open air. Magnus and Alec looked up as a flock of ravens and smaller birds flew together; their colours bold and dark against the pale blue sky.

“I hope this king has someone to talk to then.” Alec said quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting Magnus’ eyes. “Someone who understands.”

“Mm.” Magnus agreed, still a little distracted by the beautiful sight soaring above his heads. But then he turned his head, and the equally beautiful sight of Alec smiling at him was even more inviting.

His words suddenly clicked into place.

_Someone who understands._

Was Alec referring to him? Surely not.

“What do I know of ruling?” Magnus asked, but not unkindly. He was simply unsure, and deeply flattered by Alec’s words. “Or of castles and politics and fine dining? Actually, I am an expert on fine dining. My wine collection is quite impressive.”

Alec stared across at the hill, and the glade awaiting them down below. Magnus couldn’t tear his eyes away. He looked like a hero, a figure from a storybook sitting atop a hill on his steed; the sun painting him in immortal fire.

The prince spoke, “But what you said about our paths being connected. I…feel it too. I, uh, can’t explain it, but I trust you.”

Now it was Magnus’ turn to look away first and hide his flushed cheeks. It was one thing for Alec to respect him, it was another for him to compliment him. And here Magnus was, blushing like a young boy handing a flower over to his sweetheart.

Warmth blossomed inside Magnus’ chest. Just today, he had learned about Anna’s death, and the new threat of demons in the Shadowlands, and yet, sitting beside Alec, all Magnus felt was the desire to be happy. How long had it been since someone had comforted him? And here Alec was, not just a mortal, but a prince, sharing a slither of his soul with Magnus.

“Thank you.” Was all Magnus could whisper. He was never usually someone lost for words, but all he could do was smile at Alec and hope that it conveyed his gratitude. The prince kept surprising him; with his honesty, his hidden desires to change the kingdom, and his loyalty to serve a cause much greater than his own life.

It had been a while since Magnus had blushed, but he couldn’t exactly open his mouth and thank Alec for that. He thought the poor prince might collapse on his horse.

They re-entered a forest glade with dazzling rows of mushrooms, plants and flowers that rested around large trees. Magnus knew that they were close now, but they still had another hour or so to ride.

They rode in quiet companionship, and Magnus felt comfortable in the silence. It was a different silence to the loneliness he had grown used to. This was almost enjoyable; to ride beside another and simply…be.

“Tell me about this portal again.” Alec asked after they passed another group of large trees.

Ignoring the still-raw pain of loss, Magnus swallowed it down and replied, “When Anna gave her life, she used her magic and her life force to…wrap around the tower. Think of it like embracing another.”

Alec’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and he turned his head away.

Magnus frowned.

_Has he never held another in his arms?_ Magnus was tempted to ask, even if it was cheeky to ask a royal who he had bedded.

But he was astonished, and saddened by this thought. The prince deserved to have someone hold him, and be held. Surely the ladies in Idris were desperate to offer their arms to the handsome prince.

_Or the lords._

Magnus felt a little troubled at that thought. For Alec’s sake, not his own.

He could only imagine the horrors that awaited a prince who turned his head towards the wrong sex.

Although downworlders disregarded this divide, Magnus had experienced mortal ways and knew that they were not liberated in regards to pleasure. As far as Magnus knew, pleasure was the second child to its firstborn sibling, duty. He had known princes and princesses and commoners alike who would rather fling themselves off castle rooftops than admit their heart’s desires.

Realising that forbidden desire was a topic that could easily destroy Alec’s young life, Magnus quickly changed the subject. “Onto more pressing concerns,” He began. He waited for Alec to look in his direction before grinning. “How long has Jace been in love with Lydia?”

Alec gaped for a moment, as if the question was the most surprising thing he had ever heard. He ran a hand through his dark tresses, tousling them and making strands stand up. “You noticed.” He murmured.

Magnus chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. “Well, I imagine Jace loving someone other than himself is a rare sight to see.”

Alec shook his head, his chin lifting with pride. “He loves more fiercely than many people I know.” He defended. “Jace was practically raised with Isabelle and I in the castle. His father and mother passed away when he was very young, but I remember that Lord and Lady Wayland were gentle, and good allies to my parents, who were not on the throne when they died.”

“Ah, yes. Your uncle was before them, yes?” Magnus tried to remember the name of the previous Lightwood king, but he couldn’t recall it. He was as arrogant and cold as the rest. 

“Uncle Benedict was on the throne before the attack, yes.” Alec confirmed. “He died that night, and my parents took the throne.” Clearing his throat, Alec paused, struggling for a moment against the memory of the violent night.

Magnus gave him time, waiting patiently. He knew what it was to deal with loss, and he let Alec deal with it in his own space.

“Anyway, Jace and I became fast friends when he came to live in the palace. He is my right-hand. And as for your question, I do not know.” Alec shrugged. “They have always been close, I know that. All I know is that Jace is one part of my heart I can trust with ease.”

“And the other parts?” Magnus dared to ask.

“The heart is a dangerous thing.” Alec’s hand came up to rest over his chest - right above his heart. His fingers slowly spread out across the folds of his tunic. His voice shook slightly. “What it wants can threaten to destroy everything I…”

He suddenly broke off, inhaling sharply and dropping his hand back down to the reins.

He didn’t speak again.

And in that silence, Magnus heard the answer. Alec was afraid of his desires, and foolishly, Magnus let himself hope that he could help. Could he encourage the prince to lower his guard and free his heart’s wishes?

“Alec,” Magnus called out softly. “The heart is not something to fear. Or to be ashamed of. I have watched too many good men waste their lives trying to fight against their happiness. I would not like to watch you destroy yourself for someone else.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Alec said coolly. He kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead, but the uneven breathes escaping from him said otherwise.

Magnus decided that this was too dangerous; too foolish to try. Especially when there was something bigger than both of them unfolding as they rode to the Guild.

A flash of red suddenly caught Magnus’ eye. He pulled the horse to a stop and felt a smile settle over his face.

“Ah!” He cried happily, leaping from his horse and kneeling beside the stretch of forest they now rode through.

“W-what it is?” Alec asked.

“Nothing to worry about, Alec.” Magnus called, eyes roaming over the array of mushrooms. They were plump and bright red, with small pink dots that covered the surface. He plucked a few, holding them by the stalks and climbing back onto the horse. He scanned through his selection for the biggest and handed it over to the prince.

Alec stared at it. “Isn’t that…faerie food?” He asked warily. “I thought eating it was dangerous.”

“This isn’t faerie food. It’s grown by the Guild, by warlocks." Magnus smiled, and pointed. "You see how it pulses here? The food has been grown using energy from the planter. As they grow, the life force makes the spots appear.”

“So…we’re eating a person?”

The look of shock on Alec’s face was too much for Magnus to bear. He started to laugh, loudly. “Oh, Alexander. How you amuse me. You have so much to learn about warlocks, and our society.”

“Then teach me.”

Magnus stopped laughing.

Alec’s request was not a simple one; nor was it so often spoken by princes with pretty hazel eyes and hidden secrets.

“The spots,” Magnus said, slowly. “, are signs that the warlock who grew them made them using light magic. It’s how to tell if the foods on trees, plants or even on the ground, are safe to eat. Safe against sorcerers and dark magic."

“Spots, good. Plain, bad.” Alec summarised. He held out his hand, his longer fingers curling slightly to create a cradle for the mushroom. He took it gently and without hesitation, bit into the cap.

Magnus couldn’t help but stare at the small trial of juice that slid down Alec’s lip, and then brushed his chin. It glistened under the evening sun, and Magnus felt a shiver go through his body. He then watched as Alec’s lips curled into a beautiful smile. It was a happy smile that Magnus hoped to see more of, and then wondered why it was so important to him that the prince smiled as often as possible.

They rode in silence again, and Magnus enjoyed the flow of the magic from the food. It calmed him, and strengthened him.

“Magnus,” Alec’s voice called him away from his dangerous thoughts. The prince turned his head, and his eyes were brighter than any flame Magnus could hope to conjure. “This is a beautiful mushroom.”

Magnus took a bite out of his own to hide his smile.

He was beginning to find it far too easy to lose his focus around the prince. Alec was captivating in a way that was youthful, and yet mature. He was quiet and hidden in one moment, and compassionate and open-minded in the next. He was like a phoenix bird; re-birthing himself with each new day, and Magnus could not wait to see what Alec would grow into next.

“So, are mushrooms the new flowers for courting?” Alec asked, after they had ridden through the glade. His voice had suddenly become carefree. “I feel as if Isabelle would have told me this, but we never did broach the subject of mushroom-eating. Does one eat lots of mushrooms in the Shadowlands? How about-“

“Alexander,” Magnus quickly interrupted. He swallowed down a laugh and reached over, plucking the food from the prince’s hands.

His stomach churned with sudden realisation. 

_Damnation_. 

Alec pouted. “I was enjoying that. That was rude. Rude warlock. Beautiful, rude warlock.”

“ _Alexander_.” Magnus said again, louder this time. He was feeling guilty now, as well as flushed. He discarded the mushrooms onto the path and then drew his horse closer to the prince.

“I think those mushrooms were made with very special care.” He explained slowly. “And magic can sometimes seep into you, so…that’s why you’re feeling a bit…”

“Relaxed?” Alec offered. He leaned back on his horse completely, and Magnus worried that he was going to fall off at any moment. “You know, I was so worried about this quest. I mean, who gives their son a quest to find a Cup that probably doesn’t even exist? That was so-“

“Rude?” Magnus offered slyly.

“Yes!” Alec pointed a finger at him. “You’re so right. I was so scared that I might fail. Not just at getting the Cup-“

“Alec, I think you should wait a while before talking.” Magnus urged him. He felt terribly guilty for not keeping an eye on how much Alec had eaten. Sometimes magic had a curious effect on others, and he should have made sure that Alec was okay. Still, perhaps Alec deserved that; time to put down his burdens and relax.

Magnus quickly warned him, “The magic will fade from you soon. Let it, before you say something you don’t want me to hear.”

“Oh. Alright. Yes.” Alec sighed deeply, and the sound was a low, husky murmur. “The view is rather lovely from here.” He admitted, still leaning back with his head against the horse’s rear.

Any moment now, the prince was going to come out of his haze, and Magnus didn’t want him to damage his neck. He snapped his fingers and a blanket appeared underneath Alec’s head, softening the up and down movements of the horse.

Alec gasped. “How did you do that? It was like magic.” He started to laugh, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Don’t do that.” Magnus begged.

“Do what?”

“Hide your smile.”

“Everyone does it. A smile is like a secret, you know. That’s what Izzy says.”

“And do you believe her?”

“Yes. Smiling means trust, which means sharing secrets.” Alec slowly moved his hand away from his face. He looked at Magnus, his hazel eyes locking onto his with concentration.

And then he smiled again; this time, a deliberate, wide, overjoyed smile. “You can have one of mine, Magnus.”

Magnus felt his heart expand beneath his ribs. He felt it with aching clarity, and he felt Alec’s smile, and the warmth it carried, caress every inch of his skin.

“Alec…”

“I know. I know. Silence.” Alec sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. He stayed as still as a statue then, but Magnus watched as his lips twitched and fought against the urge to smile.

Without the prince seeing, Magnus returned the smile, helpless against the rush of emotions that Alec was bringing out of him. It was in the curve of his lips, and the determination in his expression. It was the prince’s smile, given freely to him. It was trust, plain and simple and secretive.

They rode in silence then, with Magnus taking extra care to watch the area. With Alec still a little unfocused from the food, and the magic, Magnus knew he needed to be on alert. Unlike with the prince, the mushroom’s magic had only made Magnus stronger. He channelled the new energy into creating a protective aura around Alec; circling him and blending him into the forest to anyone, or anything, which might observe them.

When the forest path turned into a cobblestone path – the final sign that they were approaching the Guild - Magnus gently tapped Alec.

It was almost twilight; the setting sun hovering low.

The prince opened his eyes and sat up quickly. “Ouch.” Alec winced. He rubbed at the back of his neck, blinking a couple of times. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his hair adorably messy.

“Sorry.” Magnus apologised. “I tried to force you to sit up earlier but you said-“

“’Princes are capable of making wise decisions.’ Yes, I remember.” He stretched out slowly. “Unfortunately.” He muttered.

A hint of a smile appeared on Magnus’ face, but he pushed it aside and said, “Alec, I am truly sorry. I should have made sure…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Alec quickly held up a hand, stopping Magnus in his tracks. He stared down at the new stone pathway they were walking on. “Did I…fall asleep?”

“Yes. We are very close to the Guild. I was going to wake you soon, but I…felt you needed to sleep off the magic. How do you feel?”

“Normal.”

Magnus flinched.

Alec noticed his reaction, and after a moment, he realised why. His eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean as in…it felt good. The magic, I mean.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, biting down on his lower lip.

Finally, he said, “I’ve never felt so...peaceful before. Does magic always feel like touching sunlight?”

The sting he had felt was suddenly gone, and Magnus couldn’t hide his surprise. “No.” He admitted.

He thought back to how he had healed and worked for many mortals before, but they normally shivered in fear as magic was used on, or around them. Some described it as cold and unfeeling. One ungracious lord compared it to his wicked mother-in-law; and so Magnus made sure to add a great deal of itching to that man’s healed wound.

“I felt so _alive_.” Alec continued quietly, glancing around. It was almost as if he was sure the forest would keep his words a secret.

The prince stared at his hands, as though he was seeing them for the first time. “I remember looking up at the trees and realising how similar they were to the ones in the castle grounds. The sky was the same. The wind sounded the same. The only thing that was different was the magic. I felt it, Magnus. All around me. It was…breathtakingly beautiful.”

Briefly, as if by some force greater than thought, Alec’s eyes were drawn towards Magnus.

_Beautiful._

How long ago had a little boy once called Magnus that, so many years ago?

The same boy was now a young man, and he was working his way past Magnus’ walls without knowing it.

Alec suddenly swallowed, and looked away; fast. He wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes and sighed. “And now it’s gone.” Alec said, his voice distant. “Does it make you feel like an Angel, Magnus? The magic?”

It was a simple question, but Magnus felt his blood run cold. It was fate's cruel reminder that he himself was not considered pure, or holy. He was an abomination to so many. He tried to conceal most of his bitterness, but some slipped out; like poison.

“I have demon blood in my veins, Alexander.” Magnus replied. “I am far from a heavenly being. I am the monsters in your storybooks, and I am the creature your parents feared you would cross paths with. _That_ is how I feel.”

_Sometimes_ , Magnus felt like he should add. But he didn’t.

Halting them, a faint, purple glow suddenly sparked to life. Before them, a large, semi-visible shimmer of magic stretched upwards and out wide; blocking off the pathway.

Both of their horses let out a loud, fearful neigh. Magnus carefully patted its neck, and watched as Alec attempted to steady his own.

“Protection wards. Nothing to be frightened of.” Magnus explained. “The Guild have to take caution with anyone who may want to use the Oak’s power for dark magic.”

Alec’s eyes widened. He had managed to calm his horse, pulling it up beside Magnus and frowning. “But I thought it was made of light magic?”

“It can still be taken and twisted into something dark.” Magnus told him. “It can be like kissing someone, only to bite their lip and draw blood.”

Alec gulped visibly. “O-Oh.”

He was suddenly very interested in the ground.

It took Magnus a moment to work out why his words had affected the prince, and when he put the pieces of the puzzle together, Magnus almost let his jaw drop. Almost.

Had the prince never ever been _kissed_ -?

The wall shuddered as someone stepped forwards; out of the shimmering wards and onto the pathway. He was a handsome man with a stern expression, dark, curly hair, and broad shoulders, and he bowed to the riders.

“I am Isaac Laquedem, representative of The Guild.” He spoke calmly. “How may we assist you?”

His Guild attire – long, deep blue robes with a golden-stitched star on the front – almost made him blend in with the shadowy forest. His warlock mark was visible clearly; long, curving antlers that had Magnus briefly wondering if he had ever roasted meat on them.

But he thought it rude to ask.

Instead, Magnus smiled and announced, “Magnus Bane. Warlock of Ash Tower.” He nodded to Alec. “Alec Lightwood.”

He was careful to not give Alec’s title, or species. Both could cause them trouble, and Magnus was unsure whether the Guild would be pleased or not with a mortal visiting them.

He focused on what they _did_ need to know. “I have come on behalf of Elias, who has led me to believe that the Guild may kindly grant me permission to replenish my magic.”

“I see. You wish to use the Ancient Oak?”

Magnus nodded. “If it accepts me, yes. I would also like to rest here, with my companion, for the night. Would the Guild offer us shelter of any kind? We can offer payment.”

Isaac held up a hand, stopping him. “The Guild is not interested in payment.” He said with a smile. “Only loyalty, and protecting the light magic of the Ancient Oak.”

His smile faded slightly. “Magnus Bane,” Isaac asked. “Have you ever been in league with a sorcerer?”

“Yes. Once.”

Knowing it was foolish to lie, or even consider lying, Magnus squared his shoulders and waited for the shuddering response to his confession.

Beside him, Alec shifted slightly; inclining his head towards him. Magnus could feel the questions burning in the air. The prince wanted to know more, but Magnus was already feeling the pain of the memory stirring inside his chest. He tried to hold it back, pushing it deep; somewhere he could not find it.

Isaac did not look disappointed. He simply asked, “And did you do so knowingly?”

“No.” Magnus shook his head firmly. It was the truth, and he explained so with clear anger. “She- I was unaware until it was too late. I have never touched dark magic. And I never will.”

He thought of her then. Of the woman who he had fallen in love with so many years before. The warlock – and now, sorcerer - he had fought with during the night of the slaughter at the Lightwood castle. 

_Camille_.

Her name was like a broken wrist that never quite healed. It was still at an awkward angle; waiting for a moment to either snap fully, or click back into place. Magnus had hoped that he would never think of Camille again, but with demons on the rise once again, he couldn’t help but fear that she was involved.

“You cannot predict the future.” Isaac finally replied, but he spoke softly. His eyes met Magnus’, and the warlock knew that his were wise eyes; eyes that had seen horrors and yet still chose peace.

Magnus was proud to feel that he had chosen the same.

Isaac smiled. “Then I welcome you both. On behalf of the Guild, I can offer you shelter for the night. You will be taken to the Ancient Oak and given the chance to take what magic it offers you.” He stepped slightly to the side, half-turned towards the purple glimmer of magic. “Are these terms agreeable?”

Magnus nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Then, please,” Isaac waved a hand, and the shield opened up to reveal a much larger pathway on the other side. The purple wall stretched, creating a space for the two riders to walk through. “Follow me.”

~

As Isaac led them out of the forest, Alec couldn’t hide his open surprise.

The Guild settlement circled around a large, curving building that arched into a dome-like shape. The building itself shimmered, sparkling like the crystals that Izzy was so fond of wearing.

Around the structure was a small village. Well, Alec called it that in his thoughts. It was not like the villages that were scattered around Idris. It was not like the small mud huts of those stricken by poor fortune either.

The Guild’s village presented rows and rows of shelters in rings; all circling around the large, glistening structure that Alec assumed held the Ancient Oak. The smaller buildings were tall, wooden structures that had doors with vibrant colours and flowers decorating them. Isaac led their horses down the single, long path that cut through the first ring of villages.

As they rode through, Alec was also surprised by how busy the village was. Warlocks of different skin colours, heights and builds walked around in groups, talking and laughing and occasionally staring at the newcomers. Some sported animal features – stag legs, large teeth, fox ears – and Alec forced himself not to stare. He didn’t want his curiosity to be misread as cruelty.

Isaac led them into a wide, open courtyard square a few moments later, and Alec felt his eyes widen as he took in the colours.

He took in the rows and rows of stalls filling up the large courtyard. He took in the enchantments of magic in the air, beckoning him closer. It was a busy array of riches and strong smells like spices and wine, and nothing like the chaotic madness of merchant stalls back in Idris.

Alec looked between all of the stalls and noticed one thing in common.

“I’ve never seen so many warlocks in one place before.” He admitted.

Magnus didn’t look fazed. He simply shrugged. “The Accords prevent warlocks from trading anymore. Groups are forbidden now, remember?”

“So they’re trading? Is this common in the Shadowlands?” Alec asked, focusing on that part. Anything other than the reminder that he was partially the reason why these warlocks could not step outside the Shadowlands without risk.  

“Trading day.” Magnus explained briefly, as if Alec was supposed to know. The warlock must’ve seen his blank expression, for he smiled and elaborated, “Warlocks who collect rare items can trade here. It’s one of the largest places in the Shadowlands. But we’re not here to buy dragon claws today.”

Alec couldn’t help himself. “So they are real? Dragons?” He grinned.

“Oh, no.” Magnus groaned, slapping a palm against his forehead. “Don’t tell Jace I said that.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Just then, Isaac stopped before one of the wooden homes, and nodded for them to dismount. They had ridden around the courtyard, and here, it was quieter; but the magic in the air was stronger than Alec had ever felt it. And after having a taste of it – quite literally – his senses were still very much aware of it. But he trusted Magnus when he’d told him the magic would soon fade, even if Alec was a little disappointed to hear it.

Alec took a deep breath and let it go, slowly, before swinging a leg over his horse and dismounting. He landed with a thud, his legs still a little shaky from the long ride.

The wooden structure they stood before had an elegant white door with dark blue swirls covering the front, and their gentle pulsing was clearly a spell of sorts. Alec knew he would have to trust that they would not harm him.

Isaac waited at the bottom of the steps, his antlers a soft wheat colour under the rising moon. “If you wish to place your belongings inside, I can then take you to the Oak.”

They unloaded their handful of supplies – weapons, water and a change of tunics for the morning – in the room. It was a single room; a large space with lush, purple carpets that felt springy under Alec’s feet, velvet curtains the colour of hay, and a large bed with golden silk-spun sheets.

Fortunately, Alec noted quickly, there was also a large, high-back chair that curved elegantly at the top.

“I can sleep there.” He pointed out quickly.

He was about to settle some blankets over it when Magnus made a noise in the back of his throat. He arched an eyebrow. “Princes sleep on beds.” Magnus pointed, with exaggeration, to the bed.

He then pointed behind Alec. “Warlocks can take the chairs.”

Sensing the start of a blush creeping across his cheeks, Alec opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “But-“

All at once, Magnus was closer to him; his face inches from Alec, and his lips looking softer than before.

Or perhaps Alec just hadn’t let himself notice.

“I wasn’t asking you, Alexander.” Magnus murmured, his voice husky. He had held up a finger to Alec’s lips, hovering it so close that Alec could so very nearly feel his touch. “Unless you want to share the bed, hm?”

Magnus wiggled his eyebrows playfully, and the gesture brought a nervous smile onto Alec’s face. Warmth spun a web of nervous energy inside the prince, radiating it like fire through his skin.

“Okay.” He managed to mumble.

Smiling in victory, Magnus took a step back and stretched his arms up over his head.

He looked so similar to the knights before their morning training sessions, and Alec wasn’t sure where to look. He knew he wasn’t supposed to look at men in a certain way, but he knew that he had never looked at a woman and felt the same racing in his blood; or the same desperation to touch, and to feel.

As Magnus turned his back on him, quickly unpacking the last of his robes – _really, had the warlock needed so many clothes?_ – Alec wondered if Magnus would understand. Would he be able to offer Alec guidance of another kind?

During their journey, Alec had been surprised by the warlock’s gentle questions, and his even gentler, yet insistent replies. He was no longer cold, but perhaps, Alec was beginning to realise, he had never been cold in the first place; merely protecting a heart that had been damaged so many times.

“Would you like to wait here when I go?”

Alec blinked. “What? Oh, uh-“

He scratched at the back of his neck, sheepishly hoping that Magnus hadn’t observed his staring. “Are mortals welcome in the….uh…?”

“Temple?” Magnus finished for him. “Who knows? And besides, you will not be asking for anything, so I do not think it will be forbidden.”

He smiled a smile that was both sweet and reassuring, and Alec ignored the way his knees trembled at the sight.

“And also,” Magnus continued casually, waving a hand around as he spoke. “I think it best that you do not leave my sights. I’m your guide, after all; and your protector.”

_Your protector._ Alec shivered.

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to fight Magnus. Not on this one. And if Alec admitted it, he was intrigued by the Oak, and wanted to keep his promise about exploring things beyond his understanding. He had to try, if there was ever hope to reunite the land once more.

Perhaps not in his lifetime, Alec thought sadly, but perhaps he could start to shape it. If he was brave enough.

_If._

The weight of the word sung into Alec. It sung like a chord that he’d heard in a dream, and he wanted to grab it and force it to become a definite. He wanted the possibilities to become real.

“Are you coming, Your Highness?”

Magnus’ voice cut through the air like water; smooth and airy and once again, enchanting. He held the door open for Alec, looking down almost shyly as he passed.

Isaac was waiting outside for them, and the sky was now a backdrop of dark blue against a curtain of silvery stars. It made the colourful doors look even brighter, and the swirls that decorated them glowed with vigour.

As they walked back down the main path, and towards the temple, the moon shone down. Its light burned into Alec with a reminder that there was yet another thing in this land that he did not understand.

_There is so much energy and power in the land. So much I cannot ever hope to understand._ He thought, a little sadly, and a little angrily. _Am I going to spend my whole life fearing the unknown?_

“This way, please.” Isaac’s voice was low as he guided them towards the temple they had passed on the way inside.

The warlock’s antlers were the only sign of his species, and Alec could not help but compare him – and not unkindly – to the rabbits in the forest that he and Jace used to smile at and watch in the fields. They had great power and strength in their small forms; ready to fight or run using their powerful legs.

But on the surface, Isaac was muted greys and moved like a shadow down the path. He was at one with the ground itself and it made sense to the prince that Isaac protected the magic of the Ancient Oak.

The entrance to the temple was formed by two, enormous double doors. The moonlight made the entire exterior shimmer and reflect, as if it had been dipped in water and created by sea gods. It shone invitingly in swirls of blues and white, and the vines that twisted around the outside were the brightest shade of green that Alec had ever seen.

There were many windows arranged in perfect rows around the curving temple. The glow that reflected in them was coming from inside, not the moonlight.

“I will leave you here.” Isaac said. He bowed politely and let them step up.

Two warlocks, in identical robes to Isaac’s, pushed open the double doors for them.

One – an older man - had pale pink skin, the colour of pomegranate juice. It made Alec think of the heat of summer; the warmth and the laughter.

The other warlock – a younger woman – had a mark that was hidden, but as they passed, Alec’s eye quickly caught the long sleeves trying, but failing, to conceal the long talons of an eagle. The warlock looked away, tugging her sleeves down.

Alec felt shame colour his cheeks a blotchy red.

He reminded himself that not all warlocks carried themselves with pride. Like mortals, some were shy. Some were disbelieving and timid. Alec felt a kindred understanding with the warlock, but knew there was no way to offer a kind word. Not without sounding arrogant.

_I see you,_ he wanted to say. _I understand._

Alec and Magnus stepped into a room that was the size of the entire training grounds back at the Lightwood castle.  

A high, arching ceiling curved above their heads; showering them with moonlight. The walls were covered in vines, and - to Alec’s astonishment - water. Soft ripples made paths down the walls, and the waterfalls pooled at the bottom to create small puddles.

Running directly through the room was a narrow pathway made of stone, paralleled on both sides by flowers the height of a fully grown man. They were pinks and reds and blues; deep shades that stood out against the water.

But the flowers were grey compared to where the Ancient Oak stood at the end of the path.

The enchanting tree was the size of Magnus’ tower, but wider. It stood, tall and glowing - pulsing like a heartbeat - and surrounded by a circling garden of flowers, plants and the occasional bird. It was a little piece of heaven and light, and Alec felt the beauty of it wash away his fears.

In this moment, there was magic in his heart, and in Alec’s soul.

“Alexander, please wait here.” Magnus said quietly. “This is one path I must make alone.” His voice blended in naturally with the light, as if his being was an extension of something crafted by time itself. He was ageless, and young at the same time.

Alec nodded, unable to speak. He offered Magnus a smile, hoping it would be a small comfort.

Standing at the beginning of the path, Magnus took a deep breath, and Alec felt his anticipation flicker through the air.

Before Alec realised what he was doing, Magnus’ hands came up to his robes, and Alec realised that there was small buttons hidden; keeping the material wrapped around the warlock.

It was those small buttons that Magnus now slid his fingers across, opening the robe and revealing a plane of dark, smooth skin that left Alec more than a little unsteady.

Underneath, the warlock wore only a pair of thin, cotton trousers the colour of muted sand; a shade lighter than his beautiful skin tone. They slung low on his hips, and as he stepped confidently across the pathway, Alec could not look away from his lithe movements. He could not look away from the taunt muscles that were tense, and rippled with each step he took.

Even as he walked further and further away, Alec could not stop watching Magnus. It was the way he moved, Alec decided, that was almost unbearably captivating. His hips circled smoothly, and his neck was stretched elegantly and proudly as he stepped up to the tree. He stood still for a moment or two.

Distance separated them, and yet, Alec knew he was being allowed to witness an intimate act.

And he was being given the trust, and the privilege, by Magnus.

That thought sent a painfully hot ache burning in the pit of Alec’s stomach. He felt dazed, and as if descending into a deep sleep, he brought up a hand to his lips and brushed his forefinger against the upper one.

It was a simple touch, and an absent-minded one, but he had been studying Magnus and was aching with a raw urgency to _feel_ something.

His finger brushed the bow of his lip and he gasped.

In that same moment, the tree suddenly began to glow even brighter.

Magnus held out his palms to the Ancient Oak, placing his feet slightly apart and bracing himself. Alec could see the tension in his back, the slight arch and the tremble of his shoulder blades. As the tree glowed, the leaves pulsing and sending threads of magic through the air, Alec watched in awe as they gently coiled around Magnus before soaking into his skin.

When the tree faded a little, no longer pulsing with white wisps of magic, Magnus sunk to his knees. His head lowered in a bow. He was breathing heavily, and as he slowly made his way back down the path, Alec felt his finger slip slightly; touching his lower lip and whispering for _more, more, more-_

When Magnus was close to reaching the steps up from the path, Alec slowly lowered his hand, trying to stop it from trembling. He clenched it into a fist, but then his hands shook even more.

Magnus reached for his discarded robe and slipped into it. He only half buttoned it, reaching where Alec stood, waiting.

Looking up at him from beneath thick, full lashes, Magnus blinked. His eyes suddenly flashed a deep, burning gold.

His mark; unhidden, beautiful and true to himself.

Everything Alec longed to be.

The magic of the temple, and the Oak, wove a moment into the air. A moment between them that had Alec trembling, and Magnus aflame.

It was the only way for the prince to begin to describe the allure of Magnus’ eyes. 

Because Magnus’ eyes were burning. They were alight with energy and magic and the new strength that had been gifted to him by the Oak.

In that moment, lit up by the tree’s glow, and the blue hues of the light streaming in, Magnus looked like the destruction of the world. His body was filled with raw power; untouched and apocalyptic, and if he had to make a choice, right then; Alec knew in that moment that he would happily stand by and let Magnus burn the world down to oblivion.

As if hearing his thoughts, and wanting to sooth them, Magnus smiled. It was soft and kind and everything that went against Alec’s teachings.

“Are you ready to return?” He asked Alec silkily, as though he had not just consumed very powerful magic.

Alec nodded, swallowing and glancing away.

And there, was the second truth. A far more important truth than ignorant teachings.

And that truth was simple: Magnus would _not_ burn the world.

It was not in his nature to be cruel. He was teasing and adventurous, but not wicked. 

_Because he is a creature of light._

Alec knew that power was dangerous. He knew that magic could be dangerous, and yet, Magnus was a soft, compassionate person to Alec. To others, they would look no further than this illusion of a warlock who could harm mortals and take out an army with a flick of his wrist.

All that Alec had seen from Magnus was intelligence and grace; beauty and steel walking hand in hand.

He chose to smile, rather than hate. In a world corrupted by fear, Magnus was a living, breathing reminder to Alec that there were still good people left.

As they walked silently away from the temple, Alec thought about their journey here. And how Magnus had looked perplexed about his payment. Perhaps wealth was not as important to Magnus as he pretended it to be. In fact, he was supposed to be leaving them in the hands of Catarina and Elias. He was supposed to be leaving, not that Alec wanted him to.

And yet here Magnus was; asking the Ancient Oak for magic so that he could wake a sleeping girl who may or may not help them with a quest that wasn’t even Magnus’ to complete.

Magnus held out a hand to open the door, and Alec noticed with horror that his fingers were trembling violently.

“Magnus.” He gasped. “Your hands. Is…this supposed to happen?” He hovered awkwardly, unsure about offering to help Magnus into their room. But to touch the warlock seemed dangerous, especially with new magic running through his veins. And to touch him felt far too intimate for Alec’s liking.

“Yes. It’s just…my magic is overwhelming me." Magnus struggled to breathe, his chest heaving as he spoke. "It wants to be used, you see. It wants to fight or create, or maybe both. It will settle down soon, until I need to use it again.”

“Would you like me to fetch you someone? Isaac?”

Alec felt helpless as he watched Magnus pace around the room. What could he do?

After a painfully long moment, the warlock finally stood still, his chest inhaling sharply.

“Can I do anything? Anything at all?” Alec asked desperately.

“You would help me?” Magnus' voice trembled quietly. “You would risk it?”

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Alec swallowed. “Well, you burning out is hardly going to help anyone.” He mumbled.

“Honest. I like it.” Magnus laughed.

Alec ducked his head, hoping the tension would soon snap and unfold. He didn’t like this uncertainty, or the way that his heartbeat raced.

“But no, Alexander. You cannot help me. Do you remember the mushroom’s magic?”

Alec blushed even more. “Yes.” He quickly replied. How could he forget it? It was like soaking up the sunshine and walking on water. It was the impossible feeling of warmth inside your heart. It was happiness, and Alec hated that he’d almost forgotten how it felt to relax. His life would always be thinking of others. His family.

Magnus stood in the middle of the room, watching him. “That was merely a taste, a drop, of magic. And I’ve just greedily gulped down ancient magic.”

“Does it hurt?” Alec asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know if he was causing Magnus pain.

“No. It is a little…enticing, if you get my drift.” His eyes shone, once again turning golden. He glanced away, looking shy. “I don’t want to lose control.”

“You won’t.” Alec told him firmly. “Uh, then you should try and sleep. Perhaps rest will calm the magic? And besides, you have to make that portal tomorrow and you need all of your strength.”

“I have more than enough, believe me.” Magnus said, his voice husky.

“Y-you don’t want to sleep?”

“I have never felt more awake, Alexander.”

Alec not only heard his name, he _felt_ it.

It whispered from Magnus’ lips and flew through the room, creating a little bubble; a window of time.

In that, Alec wondered if Magnus had lost control, because the word had tingled against his skin.

Magic had escaped from Magnus’ lips when he spoke the prince's name.

They studied each other silently, until the seconds became minutes. 

At last, Alec decided that what Magnus needed was a little normalcy. Something to steady him, and occupy his thoughts.

Like the moody prince he wanted Magnus to see, Alec sighed loudly. “Fine. Then _I_ am going to sleep.” Alec said stubbornly. “And you can keep an eye out for demons or evil mushrooms or anything that wants to kill us today.”

He took extra care to flop onto the bed with another sigh, but from the corner of his eye, he watched Magnus for any signs of restlessness. When the warlock slowly went to sit in the chair, Alec hid his pleased smile.

Perhaps he had found a way to help Magnus after all.

With that pleasant thought, Alec quickly drifted off to sleep.

The dreams that greeted him were a stirring of vibrant colours and laughter; always coming back to a burning gold.

~

_Alexander_.

Magnus mouthed the prince’s name, but was careful not to speak it. Not again, after he had let it slip out like a spell earlier. The magic that flowed through his veins was still too strong to risk speaking again, and so he continued to watch, and wait.

Magnus spent the entire night forcing the magic to fall asleep; ready for him to wake it up when they returned to the tower.

He kept up a rhythm of watching out of the window, toying with the beautiful blade that Jace had given him, and occasionally risking a glance at the sleeping prince.

Alec smiled softly as he slept, and Magnus could only look at him for a few moments before the magic sparked to life inside of him again.

Without knowing it, Alec had grounded him. Somehow, he was both a danger and the solution to Magnus’ control. Magnus leaned his head back, letting out another slow breath. In it, he released the tension he’d been carrying ever since…well, a long time.

Magnus used a small portion of his magic – and not the Oak’s – to hone his senses and listen out for any threatening sounds. But all he caught was glimpses of conversations between Guild members, and as fascinating as the moon’s position was to Magnus, he didn’t really care to spend an entire night debating about if it was silver or white.

Which, apparently, Guild members did.

Somewhere between feeling the cool touch of the blade, and looking at Alec's sweet smile, Magnus fell into a deep, calming sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. MUCH. MALEC.  
> This chapter was my favourite to write, and I really hope you enjoyed it too? xx  
> Let me know your thoughts, and which lines and scenes you liked! :)  
> OOH ALSO, I have a picture of the tree that I used for inspiration: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/64/79/b9/6479b9131ad1de802c2a3fdaf2194f1f.jpg  
> Isn't it beautiful??? Gahhhh.  
> I am away on holiday for 12 days, but I will update as soon as I can! In the meantime, comments = love, so please drop one if you have the time! xxxxx


	7. Magic and Mortals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! I hope you are all doing well! :)  
> I'm back from my holiday, so here is the next chapter. It's basically a 'what's been happening at the castle' chapter, with lots of saphael, herongraystairs and a smudge of malec! Hope you enjoy it! <3  
> Happy reading! x

The journey back from the Guild was once again, to Alec’s surprise, calm.

They travelled back across the glades, and then the hill, stopping occasionally to drink a little water from one of the streams, or to give their horses a break.

There were no signs of demons threatening the peace. The only sounds that greeted them were animal cries, a soft wind, and their own footsteps.

“I feel like we’ve been gone for a long while.” Alec said to Magnus, who was smiling at the rows of flowers by their feet. “Is that usual?”

They were walking on foot through a woodland area, leading their horses slowly as they rested. Glancing around, he realised it was still bright. The sun was still halfway in the sky, and the warmth on his skin showed no signs of fading anytime soon.

Magnus nodded, the deep red of today’s robes glistening like wine. They complimented his dark skin so beautifully that Alec found himself stealing glances whenever Magnus looked around to check for dangers.

“We have been in and out of the Faerielands.” The warlock explained. “Time stretches in a way that is different to mortal time. Magic plays with time like a mother playing with its child. Carefree and without concern.”

He looked at Alec and smiled. “It's nothing to worry about, trust me.”

Alec did. However, he was worried about one thing.

“So, am I going to come out and return to Idris and suddenly have gray hair?” He tried to keep his voice light, but it was deep with concern. Something that was illogical threatened Alec’s mind. He had always obeyed the rules and enjoyed their structure. The Shadowlands was a contrast in everything he had been taught; everything bright and adventurous in contrast to cool writing desks and the split blood of a first hunt.

“Does that worry you, Alec?” Magnus asked. His words were spoken tentatively. “Growing old?”

Alec shrugged in response. He didn’t reply for a moment.

Words, thick on his tongue, weighed down the truth he longed to confess. He wasn’t afraid of time, but he was afraid of what it could turn him into, or turn him away from. It could turn him into a leader, someone to be respected, but it could also turn him into something unrecognisable. And that was what frightened Alec. Could he say with certainty that the future king of Idris would be worthy?

Self-doubt wrecked his body, and he hid the trembling of his hands behind the reins.

If Magnus noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Alec was grateful.

“I suppose it doesn’t worry you.” Alec suddenly heard himself say. “Time, I mean.”

It had crossed his thoughts; at how Magnus’ immortality meant that time was something he could control. Something he could scoff at and dismiss.

But then he caught the tremble in the warlock’s bottom lip.

Alec’s eyes widened.

Guilt shamed him into breaking the silence once again. “Oh. That was thoughtless of me. I…I’m sorry.”

How could he have dismissed what it would be like to live forever? To lose loved ones and live on without them? Magnus was a good, kind soul, but that did not mean he was without scars, and sometimes Alec forgot this. He forgot that the warlock who had offered his services could be just as lost as he was.

“No harm done.” Magnus said, after they had walked long enough for Alec to feel his shame become almost unbearable. He looked up at Magnus, who was, indeed, smiling. There was nothing in his expression that held anger.

Alec relaxed.

“I have, occasionally, tried the gray hair thing.” Magnus confessed with a laugh. He waved a hand. “Just to see.”

This struck Alec as sad. What was it like to fabricate a lie and believe it for a little while? To make your hair gray and pretend you were ordinary?

“Why would you want that?” Alec asked him, hoping it didn’t sound abrasive. He was genuinely curious. “It won’t be fun. Growing old, I mean.”

Magnus shook his head firmly. His expression turned whimsical, as if he was lost in a dream. “Alec, it is beautiful.”

“What, death?”

“How morbid.” Magnus chuckled. “No, all I meant is…” He paused. “I would love to understand it. Mortality. To have that joy of changing beside someone and knowing that their hand would curve and grow, just like yours would. To grow old with someone you loved. It would be a once in a lifetime adventure. The only one I could never have."

His voice grew quieter. "I will never have someone to leave this land with. Someone to smile at one last time, look back on memories with, or say goodbye to and know that I would soon follow.” He held up a palm, as if asking the sky to drop down a miracle; an answer.

“Would you give it up?” Alec asked. “Your immortality?” He had thought about this before, but once again, he pushed it aside. It was one thing to think about death, it was another to get lost in the absence of it.

They passed through one of the final clearings before the tower – heading to where they had left the others – and they mounted their horses.

After another few moments, Magnus sighed. “No.” He finally replied. “I could not give it up. Not because I wouldn’t want to die, but…because of _this_.”

He flicked his wrists, circling blue sparks of magic in the air. They danced a little, moving as if they were an extension of his blood and bone. His eyes slowly lost their glamour, revealing the true gold behind them.

“My magic gives me freedom. I would never wish to part from it.” Magnus' lips pulled into a small smile. “I adore it.” He confessed, making the magic shift. With his fingers, he plucked the air, and slowly a shape began to form. He continued to speak. “It has become my one, true companion. In all my life, the magic has always been there. It changes with me, like no one else ever could.”

The shape formed even more, and Alec stared at it, concentrating as it grew clearer.

“Immortality might be a warlock’s curse,” Magnus said, his voice lowering a little. “, but my magic is a gift. Or at least, I think so. Even though most see it as an evil – as a gift from a demon to his wicked son – I cannot.”

The blue finally settled, beating like a heartbeat as it formed a bird in Magnus’ palm. Its wings shook, spreading out and taking flight. It made circles in the air above them. The bird’s wings were flames.

“I would miss it. A lot.” Magnus admitted. “So I could never give up my long life if it meant giving up my magic. It is a part of me.”

The bird crumbled, turning into blue ash that fluttered down onto the pair.

Alec watched as the remains of the magic landed on his own arms, tickling it and warming his skin.

“A phoenix.” Alec said.

Magnus smiled. “Indeed. Flamboyant and prone to dramatics. Remind you of anyone?” He winked at Alec.

Alec smiled back.

“They’re also quite lonely.” Magnus added, wrapping his hands around the horse’s neck and petting it. He didn’t meet Alec’s eyes.

Alec felt his expression grow serious.

He swallowed, rubbing his thumbs over the reins before plucking up the courage to speak. “Isabelle once found a deer in one of the fields near our castle. She, uh, kept going out to feed it, but it would never take the food unless she was out of eyesight.”

He took a deep breath. “It didn’t come back for a long time. I remember Isabelle saying it was probably stealing food from someone else. And then the attack happened.”

Alec squeezed his eyes shut. He fought back tears and carried on. “Afterwards, Isabelle…she wanted to be alone. Well, not alone, but…on her own. At least for a while. She went out into the field, not even remembering her adventure with the deer, but there she was, sitting in the long fields of wheat against a tree, and…it found her. The creature came to her. It sat with her, and nuzzled her and refused to leave her side until the last tear dripped from Izzy’s eyes.”

He tried to calm his nerves, but Magnus was listening so intently, and so carefully, that he felt something shifting. A nervous energy built up inside of him. “In that moment, it knew that she needed someone…” He broke off.

“What I’m trying to say is that, well,” Alec looked at Magnus. “Perhaps lonely creatures are always the kindest.”

Magnus’ eyes shone, and Alec realised, somewhat with horror, that he was crying. But then Magnus smiled, and he came to the conclusion that perhaps tears did not always mean sadness. Sometimes they meant gratitude. And perhaps he hadn’t messed up something after all.

“I have enjoyed this trip, Alec. I have enjoyed getting to know you more.”

“Oh." He glanced away, swallowing. "Y-yeah. You too.”

Magnus quirked an eyebrow.

“R-really. I…mean it.” His hedging really wasn’t helping, but the mischievous grin on the warlock’s face was stopping Alec’s ability to speak like a normal person.

Fortunately, a flock of birds chose that moment to fly overhead. He was saved by their flapping wings and loud squawks. “I hope they have our message by now. We’ll need something more to go on than ‘random demon sightings.’”

Magnus grinned. “Don’t forget ‘mysterious woman locked in tower.’ Who can also communicate with your sister through dreams.”

Alec scowled. “Thanks for the reminder. I don’t trust this Clary person.”

“You haven’t even met her!” Magnus was laughing now.

“Whatever. She had better be worth all of this.” He gestured to where they had come from.

“Was the trek really so bad, Your Highness?”

Alec was about to try cracking a joke, but then he caught the brief moment of uncertainty in Magnus’ eyes. It was a feeling he knew all too well, and if Magnus was feeling insecure, Alec was going to try and make sure it wasn’t because of him.

“It was…enlightening. Thank you for letting me come along.”

“Did I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Magnus said, but fondly. He smiled. “You always have a choice, Alexander. We all do. You just have to be brave enough to fight for the hard path sometimes.”

Alec folded the warlock's words into small parcels. He hid them in the places of his mind, and his heart, that no one could see. He kept them for a later time. A time where he could let himself be selfless, if the time ever came.

Thoughts of his friends flew back into his mind…

~

As the sun set in the sky, Will Herondale kicked back his heels onto the large table and took a bite out of his apple. The sound echoed, breaking the silence and earning him a look of disapproval from the companion on his left side.

“Feet. Off.” Raphael hissed.

Will shrugged at him. “Alright.” He said, grinning as he took another bite with a loud crunch.

His feet remained exactly where they were; crossed over the table in the library.

To his right, the second man inclined his head towards Will in warning. The streaks of silver in his hair were like stars under the lamps, and his smile always washed over Will like the cool relief of drinking water after a long ride. He winked at Jem, who simply sighed and left Will to his usual jokes.

The knight to his left, however, grumbled something most unkind.

“You’ll put your sword up my _where?”_ Will asked, incredulously. He widened his eyes for effect. “My, my, dear sir. What a sour knight you make.”

Just when Raphael looked ready to follow through on his threat, the door to the one of the smaller castle libraries opened. Two more figures stepped into the light, which Will had taken care of as soon as they entered. There was nothing more disturbing to him than seeing books looking so lost and forlorn in a dark, cold room.

The woman who entered seemed to agree.

Theresa Gray, the shy, yet surprisingly headstrong woman, who Will had grown to like a great deal, cast her eyes around the room. He waited with baited breath until she smiled approvingly, and then the tightness in his chest turned to a warm embrace. He tried to catch her eye and smile, but she was focused on the note in her hand.

Beside her, Simon, her bookkeeper friend, pushed up his glasses onto his nose and waved awkwardly. “Thank you for coming.” He said, as they made their way to the table.

“Yes, do tell.” Will said breezily. “I have a porter of wine and five beautiful women waiting in my chambers.”

“I’m sure they can find other amusements.” Tessa muttered. "Less disappointing ones."

Jem snorted with laughter.

Will narrowed his eyes in betrayal at his friend, who merely shrugged and turned back to the two others. “You asked us to meet you here.” Jem said, his voice as gentle as it often was. “Is something the matter?”

“The prince has requested our help. All of us.”

The three knights sat up a little straighter.

Will brought his feet off the table and leaned forwards. “Is Alec in danger?”

“Uh, we all are.” Simon mumbled.

Raphael looked at him, his eyes sharp. “Explain.” He said, but not rudely. “Please.” He added, after Simon swallowed.

Why couldn’t Raphael treat _him_ with decent manners? Will wondered, still a little grouchy from Jem’s lack of support. He shrugged it aside and focused. “Is he displeased with our previous letters? I thought we were taking our lookout duties very seriously. We already wrote to him thrice already!"

Will took an angry bite of his apple. "Does he wish to know how many footsteps we take as well?"

“Are you done complaining, William?” Tessa asked. Her lips were twitching though, and Will counted it as a victory. Without waiting for an answer, she laid down the note, her graceful fingers spreading across the parchment. “We have work to do.”

There was a pause as they read the note, and then again.

“By the Angel.” Jem whispered.

“You can say that again.”

“Later.” Jem said, faintly. Will shifted his chair closer, wanting to be nearer.

“Alec wants us to gather supporters." Tessa summarised. "In case a war begins. But he doesn't want anyone to panic yet." Her voice was strong, showing no signs of fear. "And it will be a war this time. Not just one brutal attack. If there are indeed sorcerers, they will have learned from before. They will know to build up their own army.”

“With demons.” Will added. His apple was now discarded on the table.

Even Raphael looked too shocked to scold him. “We have to find some answers." The knight said. He looked at the two bookkeepers and sighed. "Are you two supposed to ransack all the libraries in the castle while we ride off and band together with warlocks?”

Raphael looked at Will and Jem. “I think it would be best for one of us to stay behind." He said. "We need a bookkeeper, someone with knowledge, who can travel with us and understand more of warlock culture. It would be good for when we meet Ragnor, and any others we can recruit."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then continued. "Jem and Will, you two know the villages like no one else. You grew up travelling around the land. I can help Tessa access the other libraries, and Simon can go with you-“

“But what about the Lady Tessa?" Will interrupted. He folded his arms across his chest and met her gaze. "Do you not wish to go on an adventure?”

“I-I don’t mind about staying behind.” Simon added. “I think I’d rather it actually.”

Will clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Then it is settled. James, Tessa and I will go and befriend every warlock in Idris, and Simon and Raphael can muster up a great plan to fight back against demons and their unknown masters and mistresses of evil. All in agreement?”

Simon and Raphael exchanged a look, and when Raphael nodded, Simon smiled. He waved a hand to the knight, gesturing for him to stand. “I have an idea.”

Raphael stood and obediently followed Simon to another corner of the library, leaving Jem, Will and Tessa still standing around the table.

They looked between each other, something stirring in the air and knitting them together in a strange, yet oddly fitting circle. 

“Are you brave enough to step away from your beloved books?” Will asked Tessa. He was trying to lighten the tension, but tenderness had slipped into his voice. It was easy to do that, especially with both Tessa and Jem standing so close. 

She stroked one of the spines, her finger trembling slightly. “I have not left the castle since my brother left me here.” She said in a small voice.

Will winced, and he felt Jem stiffen beside him.

It was unusual for Jem to be angry, but the story of Tessa Gray was one that would set even the kindest souls on edge. When she was only eleven years old, her elder brother had abandoned her and left her in the care of the Head bookkeeper at the time, a stern and unloving woman named Lady Black. He had promised to come back for her, only for her to later realise she had been sold by her only remaining family member.

Nathaniel had used the money to leave Idris and gain passage on a boat across the sea. He was likely living on one of the many islands across the ocean, never once thinking about the sister he had left behind.

“Would you like to see the world?” Jem asked her quietly. His question was a quiet song of possibility. 

“There is so much to see." Tessa said. She smiled. "So much I have read about that calls to me.”

Will felt heat rush into his blood. He felt so alive, and the blush in Tessa’s cheeks, and the smile and light in Jem’s eyes, was shaping them together as one.

“Lives are to be lived, my lady.” Jem said. “You cannot tell your own tale if you are lost in another’s.” He nodded to the books lining the shelves. “These books are adventures, and they live in your heart, but yours is waiting outside for you.”

Between Will’s teasing encouragement, and Jem’s gentle persistence, Tessa was becoming something more than she was before. She felt daring and bold and ready to carve a novel out of her own journey.

And she wanted to spend time with the two boys more. She was a lady in the castle, but not noble born. She did not have royal blood, or exceptional gifts. She loved books and cherished the stories they told. But if she set her mind to it, armed with a book or a smile, there was nothing that Tessa Gray could not do.

She settled her hands on her hips. “Let’s go save the kingdom.”

Will smiled. “Let’s.”

Jem opened the door. “Ready?”

~

Raphael’s next few days were spent furiously searching through books and listening to Simon theorise and discuss ideas.

It was, granted, not a bad way to spend time, but with the threat of demons looming over their futures, Raphael found it difficult to contain his temper. The king and queen had continued to go about their duties, collecting taxes and organising disputes between villagers, but Raphael was fearful about crossing them. Which was what they were being asked to do by the prince.

And so here they were, pouring over library books that hadn’t seen the light of day in a century.

Dust blew into Raphael’s eyes and he growled. After reading through another unhelpfully vague description of a demon’s weakness, he slammed the book shut.

“This is impossible.” He snapped. “None of the information we need is in this library. We need to look...” He broke off, glancing around and making sure they were truly alone. Which actually only made the gnawing ache in his chest worse. He turned back to Simon and noticed how close he was sitting.

“We need to go to the locked sections.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “I thought you might say that, and I thought of a plan.”

“You did?”

“How do you feel about a little breaking and entering this evening, Sir Raphael?” Simon’s smile turned playful.

“I don’t approve.”

“No surprise.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Are you teasing me?” He tried to sound threatening, but he couldn’t hide the laughter slipping into his words.

“Uh, no. Why would I do such a thing?” Simon laughed nervously.

_Because you’re Simon,_ Raphael wanted to reply _. And I’m glad for it._

And he was. He was glad to be seated beside the bookkeeper and enjoy his company.

The goodness in Simon’s heart never failed to surprise him, not because it was some hidden quality of Simon’s, but because he gave away kindness so freely. Raphael found it hard to express anything beyond annoyance, but in Simon’s presence, he was always realising how easy it was to remember the light in the world.

“What? D-do I have seeds in my teeth again? You know, one time, Isabelle didn’t tell me about this giant – and believe me, it was HUGE – pumpkin seed in-between my teeth for an entire banquet. Do you know how many lords and ladies saw me like that?” Simon groaned. “The Angels hate me.”

_They don’t hate you,_ Raphael thought. _Look how carefully they made you. Shaped you with light and soft edges, not cruelty or malice._

Realising that he was still staring, Raphael shifted back in his chair and looked away. “I will see you tonight then.” He said, quickly pushing up and glancing once more at the bookkeeper. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Uh, your chambers are closer to the library. Is…that, I mean, do you mind? I know you don’t want people seeing a bookkeeper loitering around outside your room but-“

“Very well. Decided.” He cleared his throat. Simon’s flushed cheeks made him feel even more anxious to leave. He couldn’t think about how humiliating it was for Simon to have to risk his reputation.

Raphael felt guilt harden his expression. “Tap once on the door so I know it’s you. Goodbye.”

And with that, he strolled from the room.

~

Tessa always used to believe that choosing her next tale was the hardest decision she would ever make.

Deciding which book to pick up filled her with fear and delight. Did she go with another romance that swept her heart into an epic tale of love? Did she choose an adventurous tale of knights and kings who fought against evil?

But now, she realised, there were choices much worse than choosing a book.

There were choices that left you breathless and anxious and in waves of excitement.

As she stood in the castle stables, watching as Will and Jem laughed quietly and saddled their horses for the journey ahead, Tessa felt her heart begin to thud loudly in her chest. It wanted to be set free whenever she glanced at either of them. There stood Will, in all his bright, vibrant laughter and quick grins. And then there was Jem, equally bright and beautiful with eyes that took in her soul and welcomed it with open arms.

The bond that was between the both of them was painfully clear to Tessa then. How closely they stood together; how quick they were to recognise signs of distress and hurt in each other’s looks.

She looked away when Will brushed a strand of hair away from Jem’s eyes. It was an intimacy that she felt she was intruding on, and so she continued to finish tightening the saddle on her own horse and keeping her emotions in check.

They were leaving to travel to the Ashdown castle in the west of the land, where Ragnor Fell lived. From the single record they had of the warlock, he was said to be relatively accommodating. He had been recorded by the Ashdowns and often sold his skills to the villages in the Ashdown’s domain, but still, Tessa knew that it would not be an easy task.

Winning over a warlock was the least of their concerns. The prince had asked them to practically rally an army.

Of magic and mortals alike.

And Tessa knew she would need to start believing in herself.

“Ready to start your adventure, _Taharial?”_

Tessa blinked, and Will was standing before her; a sweet smile falling across his handsome face. His dark hair was curling slightly, and his eyes were shining brightly as he gazed down at her.

“My name is Tessa.” She said, narrowing her eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Will, but she certainly didn’t trust her heart to let itself believe he cared for her. Not in the way she desired.

Will’s smile widened. “I know that.” He said. He lowered himself slightly, creating a cradle for her foot. The sight of Will on one knee before her made Tessa blink in surprise. Before she could imagine it under another situation, she quickly climbed into his hand and mounted the horse, steadying herself before looking down at Will.

“ _Taharial_ is the Angel of Courage. She guides the way.”

And before Tessa could blink again, or memorise the curve of Will’s lips as he smiled, he had turned and mounted his own horse in the stall beside hers.

They rode out of the stables, the three of them; side by side.

Will’s horse inched forwards, taking the lead and leaving his dark hair streaming in the breeze like ribbons.

Jem stayed beside Tessa, keeping a steady pace for her to keep up with. She smiled gratefully, and he returned it.

If Will thought she was _Taharial_ , then Jem was indeed _Sanvi_ , the Angel of Wisdom.

He was graceful and kind and smiled with all of his heart. Perhaps it was why Tessa glanced away before she could let herself memorise Jem’s eyes as well as Will’s.

Without realising it, the two men held her heart. And they held it like the two ropes of the drawbridge they had just left behind. If one let go, the other two would not stand up on their own. They needed every part to stay together, and stay upright.

And as she watched Will throw his head back and smile at the open night sky, and the vast distance they had to travel, Tessa smiled; quite sure that Jem was as well.

_Ridwan_ , Tessa thought as Will’s laugh danced through the air towards them. The Angel of _Freedom_.

And there the three riders began their journey.

With courage, wisdom, and freedom.

~

Tapping lightly on Lord Raphael’s door was one of the scariest moments in Simon’s life.

He had bowed to the King and Queen themselves and thanked them for his acceptance into the castle, and yet, tonight, his palms were even clammier and his throat felt drier than it had that first day as a scholar.

His hands shook even more when Raphael opened the door.

He had discarded his chainmail and wore a simple black tunic with dark blue trimming. His raven black hair blended into the shadows, but his dark eyes – as ever- seemed to hold Simon in place for a moment too long.

There was such a quiet power to the knight, and although it didn’t frighten Simon, it certainly intimidated him. He was aware of their difference in stations, and yet, he had always looked up to, and admired Raphael.

So when Raphael raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes, Simon simply smiled.

_Right. Work to do. No dawdling today, mister._

They padded across the hallway as soon as the bells began to chime.

They would have almost half a minute while the guards did a quick changeover, hopefully giving them enough time to enter the library. Once inside, Simon knew they would need to find a distraction on the way out. But he had asked Maureen and Raj, two of his friends who worked in the stables, to help him out a little. Simon only hoped the timing worked out well.

The prohibited books – spell books, Idris history texts and other banned books – were kept in the back rows of the Lightwood private library. It was more of a prison than a proud display, and Simon hated seeing the dust that had gathered on so many of them.

But even after the Accords, the King and Queen refused to destroy some of the texts. They just collected them and stored them. Simon saw this as a display of power. He looked at the aged books gathered on the shelves and saw cultures folded away inside their crinkled pages. He saw the knowledge kept like secrets in the dark.

“What are we looking for?” Raphael’s whisper interrupted his thoughts.

Simon turned, and found the knight’s face poking through the shelf, in-between the books. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Anything.” Simon whispered back. “Perhaps a work of sorts exploring demon origins? I think there used to be a bestiary…”

“On demons?” Raphael questioned dryly. He raised an eyebrow. “And you believe the king and queen would allow this to be kept here? In the castle?”

“Maybe. I…” Simon felt his hope deflate. He tapped his fingers on the book spines as he scanned, searching for anything that stood out.

Raphael followed as he searched, occasionally picking up a book and placing it back down again. After a few minutes more, Simon realised they would have to leave soon. It was almost at the time for the next changing of the guard, and Maureen would be putting their plan into action soon.

_And all I’ve found is a book about the art of cooking cranberries-_

“Wait.” Raphael said, quietly but firmly. He took hold of the book that Simon had his palm spread out across and picked it up. “This could be useful?”

Simon was surprised to see the look on Raphael’s face. Here was a knight who had fought battles and known glory and victory, and yet, his expression was unsure. He held the book carefully, lifting it towards Simon in question.

The book Raphael was holding had red, intricate swirls on a background of muted gold, and it looked a lot like a spell book.

But the patterns were criss-crossed and angry and gave Simon a sickening feeling in his stomach. It was like looking at someone from the inside out. The swirls were quick, jittery lines, and Simon held it gingerly as they made their way over to a small table, out of sight and shaded.

They had to find something. If Alec, their prince and future king, needed their help, then Simon was going to be sure he had it. He thought of Isabelle, and how she was out there in the Shadowlands. He missed her terrible. He missed her smile, and her laughter, and the way she would dance with anyone she wanted to.

Having the princess as his best friend had shocked many at first. Even Simon had been surprised that they bonded so well. But she was good and brave and a joy to be around, and Simon was grateful for every moment they shared.

He only wished she liked endangering herself a little less.

“By the Angel.”

Raphael’s whisper tore Simon’s thoughts away from Isabelle. It was a hushed whisper, filled with horror. When Simon looked down at the now-open book, he realised why. He gasped.

On the first page, there was an image of an Angel, holding a goblet that shone like the first rays of sunlight. It was a heavenly image of everything good and true in the world, everything that Simon believed in.

On the second page stood an image that haunted the room like Death himself.

The goblet, which was now cast in a ring of fire, was filled with sickening realistic blood. It was thick and red and shone like wine that had been left in the sun for too long. And there were hands grasping it. Not heavenly beings, but thick, shadowed hands with long, twisted fingers that clawed desperately for the goblet.

“The Cup.” Simon breathed out.

Raphael nodded. “I think so.” He nodded to the surrounding text. “Can you read any of it?”

“Not well.” Simon said sadly. He ran his fingers over the text carefully. “It’s in the lost language of the Angels. I think. But…the text on the right is something I do, unfortunately, recognise.”

Raphael waited patiently for him to answer.

Simon took a deep breath. “It’s a demonic language. One that I’ve seen before only once. I think…” He looked down and felt horror creep into his voice again. His fingers recoiled from the book. “This is the spell book that Valentine used on his followers that night.”

“The only that granted those _traitors_ extraordinary strength?” Raphael’s lip curled in anger. “This is the very book that helped to slaughter our people?”

Simon nodded, understanding the rage.

He gazed down at the two images again. “But this isn’t the spell. It’s…something else. But it could help the quest.”

“Alec asked us to look for information on demons,” Raphael reminded him. He sighed. “, not to help finish his foolish quest to retrieve a legendary cup.”

“What if everything is connected?” Simon prompted.

He looked down and continued trying to make out some of the words. Fragments kept coming up, but he was struggling to make sense of it. “The Cup was a gift from the Angels, we already knew this. But…if it’s in a spell book, and one filled with dark magic, then…the Cup could be used to harm others. It could be a part of their plan.”

“Whose plan?” Raphael asked.

“The sorcerers, or whoever else is opening portals to let demons loose again.”

“I see.” Raphael looked thoughtfully at the images. “The hands are not human hands, are they?” He pointed to one of the clawed hands reaching for the Cup.

“No.” Simon shuddered. “They are demons.”

“But there’s one part of this that doesn’t make sense.”

Simon laughed nervously. “Really? Just the one?”

Raphael almost smiled, but then his expression turned serious again. “The legend that the Cup grants immortality is an old one, but even if there is some truth to it, and that is part of their plan, why do they need it? Sorcerers are already immortal.”

“Good point.” Simon said. He frowned. Why did they require a cup to make them immortal? If the legend was true, and if they were considering that the cup was in fact real, and a part of the demon attacks, then why-

“Holy hell.” Simon whispered fearfully.

He felt his eyes widen as the sickening horror in his stomach curled into a cry of pure terror.

He pushed the book further away, his fingers shaking.

“What it is?” Raphael asked him. His hand hovered over his, not quite touching but close enough that the warmth of his touch was almost a comfort. “Simon?” He called out quietly.

Simon felt his lip tremble. “I think Valentine is still alive.”

The words cut through the still air, tense and thick.

He wondered if they were dangerous to speak out loud.

That name was a nightmare to so many, including himself, and just voicing his fear had turned his idea into a dreadful truth.

The truth that maybe, just maybe, a great evil was returning.

“That is insane.” Raphael said, but not coldly. “No one has heard anything of him since his banishment.”

“Where was he banished to?”

Raphael blinked. “He was banished to the Shadowlands…” He said slowly, trailing off as realisation hit him.

“Where demons are now rising." Simon finished. His voice was a panicked whisper. "Where some of his followers fled to. Where powerful magic lives and breathes-“

Raphael held up a finger, asking him to stop. His eyes were kinder than usual. “Simon, this is a rather big ‘what if’. Try to relax.”

“And there was never a body.” Simon carried on, ignoring Raphael’s calming words and rushing on. “There was no body. That always spells trouble.”

He looked at Raphael pleadingly, trying to make him understand and realise the threat.

He wasn’t sure why, but he needed the knight to be on his side. To trust him. “Sorcerers are in the forests." Simon pleaded. "Just tell me, please. Could it be a possibility that Valentine survived, and is planning another attack? But this time…with demons? And immortality on his, and his followers’ sides?”

Raphael didn’t answer. He tapped a finger against his lip, his brow furrowing once again. He was conflicted, Simon could see it, but when he glanced up, he nodded. It was a brief movement, but for some reason, it relieved Simon. To know that the knight was beside him, and listening, soothed him. And he had a feeling their world was about to be completely turned upside down, inside out and back to front.

“Even if it isn’t Valentine, and perhaps just another arrogant, bloodthirsty man who desires the throne, the Cup will make them immortal.” Raphael said. “They wouldn’t just be powerful, they would be unstoppable. Imagine it.”

“I’m trying not to.” Simon mumbled.

An army of immortal men, sorcerers and demons was something that could destroy them all.

Something that could burn down the entire land.

“We need to warn them." Simon said. He felt sick with worry. "They have no idea, and there could be an army waiting to-“

“We have time.” Raphael said, firmly. “There is a reason why there hasn’t be an attack yet.”

“Are you forgetting the demons? And downworlders disappearing and getting possessed?”

“Obviously that, but there has not been an attack here. In Idris. There must be a reason why they haven’t. An obstacle they cannot overcome.”

“You think…they don’t have the Cup yet?” Simon asked, hopefully.

Raphael nodded. “Like you said, it is protected. If it is real.”

Simon felt a sigh of relief. It was bad, but manageable. Perhaps they could stop a great war before it had even begun. Perhaps they could save the world.

“The princess will be fine.” Raphael suddenly said. His voice was low, and strangely thick with emotion. “I’m sure you are worrying for her safety.”

Simon nodded. “Oh, yes. But,” He smiled fondly. “Isabelle can protect herself. She is my best friend.” He felt his smile widen. “I chose well.”

Raphael grunted, and Simon blinked in surprise at how dismissive it sounded.

Had he offended the knight somehow?

“You’re my friend too.” He said quickly. When Raphael froze, he thought that it had been a foolish thing to say. Especially to someone of higher station, a high ranking lord, and knight.

“I mean, not a _friend_ friend, but…we get along.” He felt the words slip into the air, giggling at his lack of etiquette. He nudged Raphael in the side. He had thought it would be a light tease, something to break the tension, but Raphael’s eyes widened.

Simon groaned. “Oh, god, you don’t even like me and I just nudged you. I’m going to go now and pretend my life is bearable-“

“It’s fine. We need to go anyway-“

At that moment, a loud explosion broke the moment. From outside the window, colourful sparks danced through the air.

Simon smiled, mouthing a silent thank you to his friend.

Maureen’s love for cooking extended to apothecary as well. She had been more than happy to try out a wonderful new idea she had put together with the help of a warlock. The result was loud, colourful distractions that had the guards leaping from their posts and granting Simon and Raphael the time to sneak back out and head back to their chambers.

~

_You are such a fool_ , Raphael told himself. He repeated it again, just for good measure.

But as he opened the door to his chamber, and turned to see Simon still hovering, unsure, Raphael felt his anger dissolve in an instant. How could he be mad at Simon for not knowing his thoughts? Half the time, Raphael didn’t understand them.

“You _are_ my friend, Simon.” He heard himself say. He hadn’t planned to, but watching Simon shuffle from foot to foot had made his heart clench. He hated to see the other man so unsure because of his own insecurities.

It was both a lie, and a truth.

Friends did not wonder what it would be like to touch the other’s cheek. Nor did they bite their tongues to hold back truths – deeper truths – that would confess to something that would only end in tears and torment.

But there was something bigger to worry about now. Something dark, dangerous and creeping slowly into their lives.

Raphael tucked away Simon’s smile into the corner of his heart. He held it there; a secret to be protected, but never shared.

“You are the better writer.” He told Simon before he left. “I’ll find the fastest bird. Meet me outside at dawn. Goodnight.” He added in afterthought, but Simon was already vanishing around the corner.

~

They released the bird as the sun rose over the trees.

All around them, the castle gardens were quietly stirring with the busy bustling of a new day. Birds began to chirp as they brushed off sleep and spread their wings.

Raphael stood beside Simon as their bird soared over their heads. Simon tilted his head back, watching quietly. His fingers twitched, and for a brief moment, Raphael wondered if they were close enough to brush and pretend it was an accident.

“If Valentine’s followers are rising again,” Simon’s voice was soft and afraid. “, people will die. It will be like last time, only worse.”

Raphael wished he could find the right words. Words that could comfort the bookkeeper.

But this was war, and Simon knew it. He would not lie to the other man.

“You are protected here.” Raphael told him. “In the castle.”

_By me,_ Raphael wanted to add. But he kept quiet.

“I don’t want to be protected. Well, I do, but…I want to help.” Simon turned to him, his eyes glistening with a brightness that was still fearful, but something else too. A thing that was more powerful than fright. Hope.

“If I can.”

“You are.” Raphael said truthfully. “And we will stay here and continue to find out as much as we can to help. War needs fighters, but it also needs knowledge and planning. War needs wisdom as well as armour.” He sighed. “Right now, this is the best place for us to be.”

Simon echoed his sigh and then grinned.

It was one of Raphael’s favourite smiles of his, the youthful one that curved hope from fear, and light from dark.

“Then I’m glad I have a knight in shining armour– literally – “ Simon laughed as light bounced off Raphael’s tunic belt. “, to protect me. Us, I mean. The people.” He stared down at his feet for a moment, and Raphael felt his own smile start to betray him.

And then Simon said, “I mean, why would you want to protect me? I’m just…this.” He gestured to himself with a hand, the movement dismissive.

Raphael sucked in a breath through his teeth. Simon’s words hit him like the sharp edge of a sword. He couldn’t stand seeing someone like Simon doubt themselves, and yet, he could find no way to offer him advice without crossing a line.

After a few moments had passed, he watched as Simon turned to leave, heading up the pathway up to the castle.

Raphael called out, unable to stop himself. “When you’re not being an idiot, you’re smart.”

Simon turned back around, his eyes wide.

“You have a brain, Simon, and you certainly know how to use it. Stop doubting yourself.”

Raphael thought he had said too much. He was sure that Simon was going to frown, or simply nod and turn back around.

Instead, he grinned again. “You just complimented me. You can't take it back now, my lord.” Simon said with a laugh. Before Raphael could grumble something about being humble, Simon turned back around and started walking again. There was a slight spring in his step that softened the sudden absence beside Raphael.

As the bird disappeared entirely from view, Raphael was alone, but smiling; the sun gracing the new day with light.

~

As soon as they entered the clearing again, Magnus felt the calm shatter around the pair.

He and Alec dismounted quickly as the others approached, the knights circling the two riders with expressions that Magnus could only describe as ‘anticipating’.

They were ready for a reaction, and Magnus glanced between Jace’s deliberately calm expression, Isabelle’s anxious one, and Luke’s defensive one.

“It would seem we’ve missed out on the fun, Alexander.” Magnus tried to joke, but his body was filled with tension as he glanced around. There was no sign of another attack, so he assumed that whatever was happening was some sort of internal dilemma.

Isabelle’s face paled as her brother stood before her. “Alec,” She held up a hand in warning. “Promise me that you’ll listen first. Don’t panic-“

“He’ll freak.” Jace said dryly, and Isabelle shot him a furious look.

Magnus tried to play the diplomat and held up a hand. “Before the lovely Isabelle attacks Jace – and believe me, I would love to see it at another time – would someone like to fill us in?” He glanced at the group. “Your time to shine. Don’t be shy.”

It was Lydia who gave them the answer.

She cleared her throat, looked Alec straight in the eye and said, “Clary Fray is Valentine’s daughter.”

It was with that declaration that Magnus knew what they had anticipated. Isabelle looked ready for a fight, Jace looked ready to hold Alec _back_ from the fight, and Lydia just looked ready. Luke was holding himself with surprising calm, but Magnus could see how his body was once again angled towards the tower protectively.

Magnus looked from Isabelle’s worried face, Luke’s protective stance, and Alec’s now angry-red flushed face.

He hid a deep sigh.

“Bugger.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A SURPRISE, RIGHT?  
> Haha. We all knew that was coming but they didn't!  
> I hoped you liked the chapter, it was really fun to write the new dynamics, so let me know your thoughts! :)  
> Next chapter we are back with the group, waking Clary (if Alec doesn't kill her first) and then...OFF TO THE SEELIE COURT. I don't want to spoil anything but...i will say one word as a teaser: DANCING.


	8. Tales Of The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos. I'm happy you're liking the story :)  
> This is a bit of a filler chapter, but it has a lot of important information, and a scene between three characters that I really enjoyed writing!  
> Also, some malec tension too, so which further ado, happy reading! x

The life of Clary Fairchild was one that Isabelle found intriguing.

It was a mystery, clouded in secrets and gaps and magic.

They had spent the day resting and eating at the werewolf pack’s home – a small set of huts and homes a short walk away from the tower. It had soon become clear to all that Clary Fairchild certainly had a past like no other.

As they sat around a circular, wooden-carved bench – with impressive carvings of wolf heads separating the seats- a large fire sparked up in the centre to keep them warm. Isabelle had been quick to ask Luke to fill them in on whatever he could. She hoped they could be of use.

Anything to keep her mind occupied from Alec and Magnus’ journey.

She knew that worrying would only make her afraid, and fearful people were foolish people. Isabelle thought of her brother's smile as he had said goodbye. She told herself that she would seem him smile again. This was only a slight set back in their quest. 

And then, Luke had begun his tale. Clary’s tale.

It was a tale of friendship, chaos and unexpected goodness and evil. It was horrifying and gentle all at once.

When Luke had sat down and sighed, glancing around the circle of knights and werewolves – who already looked solemn, having likely heard the story time and time again – he had paused.

“Where do I start?” He asked, almost to himself.

Isabelle, who was beside him, tried to smile. “At the beginning.” She suggested kindly. “Or as close to that as you can.”

Everyone waited. The day was stretching slowly around them. Ever since Magnus and Alec had left, Izzy had wondered if magic could sense when people needed more time. Could it hold back even the sun itself? Could it let those who walked the land have longer with their loved ones, or stretch out a night to last forever?

Finally, Luke spoke. “Promise me that you’ll listen until the end. All of you.” He looked around the circle and began.

There was a gentleness about the werewolf that surprised Isabelle. He was a great deal taller, broader and was a protective pack leader. Yet, he led the knights into his home and shared a place to rest, and eat. He did not accuse them of anything, or demand answers. He didn’t even ask for their rank, even though Isabelle suspected Luke was far from ignorant. Still, she found herself trusting him almost instantly.

“Clary Fairchild was born to a Jocelyn Fairchild." There was a thick emotion in Luke's voice as he spoke. Isabelle felt it settle around the group, capturing their attention. "She was a villager, living just outside of the Lightwood castle. Her father was…a lord.”

“He lived in the castle?” Jace asked.

Isabelle frowned at that. “I don’t know anyone by the name of Fairchild. Not a lord, or lady.”

“Her father separated the two parts of his life. Family, and rank." Luke explained, his eyes still clouded and dark. "He was ambitious and wanted to prove himself. He wanted people to see him for his own worth. He was charismatic and had strong ideas about protecting the people. He was adored.”

“Oh. His name?”

Luke shook his head. “Not yet." He answered. "I need you to understand this. He wasn’t always...” Luke trailed off and stared into the fire for a few moments. He spoke again, quietly. “Clary’s father believed in preserving our... _your_ race. He believed in the strength of the Angels; in the knowledge that mortals should rule.”

The words struck Izzy as painfully familiar. How often had she heard her own parents, and court, say such things?

Luke continued on. “He was once a good man. Jocelyn never would have married him otherwise. But the man she fell in love with changed. He became obsessed with needing to cleanse the land." The Alpha's lips pressed together into a thin, angry line. "He thought we mixed too greatly. Downworlders, and mortals. Blood, and magic. But the Lightwoods welcomed his council and…people admired him. He had a following after a short while.”

Izzy frowned. “A following?” 

“Yes, people who shared his beliefs." Luke elaborated. "But, as it always is with masses, ideas becomes fears, become hatred." His expression turned sorrowful. "Anyone different is shunned. He believed mortals were supreme; the Angel’s chosen rulers.”

“This isn’t that different from the king and queen’s beliefs.” Jace said quietly. His expression was thoughtful, and Izzy recognised the fear in his eyes; the shame, and the disappointment that they were a part of the problem in their own kingdom. 

Luke nodded grimly. “You’re not wrong. But Clary’s father thought they weren’t acting quickly enough. They were fearful of downworlders, but didn’t fully hate them. Not yet, and certainly not strong enough to make a clear divide. And so, Clary’s father made his move.”

_Made his move._

Isabelle repeated the words in her mind.

Silence fell around the circle, and it was from that silence that the truth spilled into the early evening. 

Jace stood abruptly, and everyone turned to watch as he said, “The attack.”

It was all he needed to say. 

Werewolves and knights alike grew solemn at the mention of the horrible night. Luke waited patiently, his kind eyes just as haunted as the others. 

Isabelle’s voice shook. “You’re talking about Valentine Morgenstern.”

Luke didn’t say anything for a few moments. He nodded. “I am.”

Surprisingly, it was only silence that greeted them. No one made a hasty decision to move, or react, because there was nothing to be done. The story had already reached its bloody conclusion. But the villain in their minds was suddenly a very real person. Someone with a family; with intelligence and perhaps even, love. 

It only made the tale even more haunting. 

Isabelle cleared her throat. Her heart was pounding loudly, but she took a steady breath and asked, “He was banished, yes?”

Luke looked at her and smiled, looking almost grateful for the direction. “That’s right." He confirmed quietly. "When Valentine was banished to the Shadowlands, he stopped only to collect Jocelyn and Clary, and…Jonathan.”

“Who?”

“Their son.” Isabelle heard someone say.

As she looked up, and found dozens of eyes staring at her, Isabelle realised it was her voice. She had been the one who had spoken. Somehow.  

Luke narrowed his eyes for a moment, but then his expression softened in understanding. “The dream connection?” He asked. 

Isabelle sighed. "I guess." Once again, the bond between she and Clary had left her unable to explain a damn thing. But she knew that Jonathan was Clary's brother. Whether it was from a memory, or a dream, she had no idea. 

She looked down at her boots. Had she even realised she knew that?

Izzy searched through the hazy memories of dreams, filtering through to find the facts. But the connection was rooted in sleep, not waking, and Isabelle wondered how much she truly knew about Clary Fairchild.

Was she really the comforting voice in the dark? Or was she the enemy?

Luke's deep voice cut through her thoughts as he began to finish the tale. "Valentine fled with Jocelyn and their children, with the help of the sorcerers who were still alive. He had a plan, but I don’t know the rest. All I know is that a few years ago, Jocelyn sent me a message. She had Clary locked inside a tower, and begged me to protect it. She didn’t need to. I would have anyway."

The fierceness in Luke's eyes made Isabelle a little overwhelmed with emotion. She watched as the werewolf smiled, his eyes growing distant as he remembered. "Clary was like a daughter to me." Luke admitted. "I lived beside their home. I walked with Jocelyn to the well to get water, and they always came to me for fresh wood cuts. I watched the children grow up.”

“How do you know they fled?” Lydia asked. 

“I followed them.” Luke said simply. And then his expression shifted. It grew solemn, but also pained, and he took a few moments to continue. “I still had hope that Valentine could be reached. The Valentine that Jocelyn and I knew, and…loved. We loved him.” He said quietly.

Around the circle, all was quiet.

No one frowned or questioned Luke’s words. He told the tale with an emotion that was so raw, so pained, that it was clear where they stood.

Alaric, Luke's second-in-command patted his friend's arm. He cleared his throat and directed the circle towards him. “We have searched for their bodies for years, Valentine, Jocelyn and Jonathan’s, but…the only person who knows what really happened is Clary." Alaric said. "She spent years with them in the Shadowlands. Jocelyn finally found a way to protect her, probably from the sorcerers who fled to continue her father’s work.”

“Then…it really could be the sorcerers who followed Valentine?" Jace asked. "Who are raising demons again?" He looked down at the blade in his hand and then sighed. When his chin lifted, there was fear in his eyes. "There really is a war brewing in the Shadowlands.” 

“How do we know that Clary Fairchild isn’t a trap?” Lydia suddenly spoke up. She spoke calmly, but the accusation was not lost on anyone. “How can we dismiss that we’re being led to wake her up by the sorcerers, who are too selfish to die and break the spell? What if Clary has already been corrupted by her father’s words, and legacy?"

Lydia nodded to Luke. "Like you said before, you don’t know what Clary has been through for all these years." She said plainly. "Why do you still protect her?”

For a short while, her words hovered in the air. Her question was one that only the Alpha could answer, but when Isabelle watched Luke, it was fairly clear to her why Clary had such a fierce guardian. 

“Because he loves her. Don't you?” Isabelle said softly. “And you loved Jocelyn too.” She hid the shaking in her voice and smiled. “You loved them enough to run into the unknown.”

Something in Luke’s expression changed then. Although it was still open, and warm, his lips pressed firmly together. He looked away.

For a moment, Isabelle was confused. Had she spoken out of turn? Surely they were beyond the point of divides.

And then Jace asked, "How did you get bitten, if you don't mind me asking?"

Luke closed his eyes quickly. He squeezed them tightly, as if fighting back the memory. 

Isabelle felt her eyes widen. She had a feeling that when Luke had followed the Morgensterns, he had a rather unexpected surprise waiting for him. 

_He was betrayed by his best friend._

She didn't say the words. She waited for Luke to reply. Even if kept silence, she knew that no one would push it further. 

Finally, Luke swallowed, looking at the knight. “Perhaps it was bad timing.”

Alaric shook his head, soft curls shifting slightly. He looked at his alpha sadly. “It wasn’t. Luke, you know that. Surely, by now. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“Perhaps.” Luke said quietly. He turned away.

Izzy realised there was something in his eyes that reminded her of Magnus. It was the look of someone who had suffered greatly, but still shone with kindness. They had known hardship in their lives without letting it warp them into someone like Valentine. They were brave and compassionate, and Isabelle felt angry that her kind had shunned such kind beings.

“The last I saw of Valentine and his family was the day of the banishment. I made it inside the Shadowlands, and we were attacked. Werewolves.”

Izzy turned to glare at Alaric.

“No, no, not them.” Luke said hastily. His lips twitched in amusement when Alaric gulped, watching Isabelle anxiously. “It wasn’t our pack. It was a group in league with the sorcerers who Valentine were with. But I didn’t know this at the time. I thought they were after us all, and…” He let the sentence fade away. 

After a moment, Alaric spoke up again. “Valentine left him to face the pack alone. Luke was bitten, and we found him on his first Change. That night, we helped him through it, and he has been with the pack ever since. He became Alpha a few years ago after Tristan was killed.”

“Your friend left you for dead?” Jace asked, his eyes wide. “Valentine left you to the wolves? Literally?”

Luke didn’t nod or speak, but the silence was the loudest answer of all.

“And they were gone when you awoke?”

Luke nodded. “Which is why we assumed they were dead. All of them. We covered as much ground as we could, at least across neutral parts of the Shadowlands. Most of the faeries turned a blind eye."

He sighed. "After the Accords were made, they wanted to cut all ties. From anyone. They didn’t want werewolves running through their territory looking for a mortal ex-lord who may or may not be alive. After a while, it was safe to assume they were dead. No one could survive here in the Shadowlands without protection. And his sorcerers disbanded. As a group, their magic would be recognisable. We could sense it. But it faded.”

“Explain the demons then.” Isabelle said, but not harshly. The realisation that Clary, the girl who had shared her dreams, had lived so close to her, shook Isabelle. More than her family ties. It was clear from Luke’s story that Clary and her mother and brother were not involved in the attack, so why had Valentine fled with them? What did he require from them? And what had happened between Luke's ending, and Clary's sleeping figure in the tower?

“If his sorcerers are carrying on his work, and possibly planning another attack, we need to still work out why they are luring downworlders away." Maia, one of Luke's pack members, spoke up. It was the first time she had spoken, but Isabelle liked the passion in her voice, and the fire in her eyes. "Why are they disappearing? Or possessing them? This doesn’t make sense. We don’t have all the pieces.”

“Clary is an important part of this." Isabelle offered. "That I know. She links us all together.”

Across the circle, and the fire, Jace snorted. "Because she whispered it to you in a bedtime lullaby?” Jace winked at her. “Sorry, Izzy, but I need more to go on to prove that Valentine’s daughter isn’t a death trap. And you know that Alec will too.”

“This is why I told you.” Luke explained. “I understand that your leader is a powerful lord. Perhaps he can help us, and bring men to fight the demons?” He looked between Lydia and Isabelle and smiled. “And capable women as well."

Until now, Lydia had worn an unreadable expression. But now, she smiled. “All women are capable.” Lydia said. “Just at different tasks."

She carried such pride in her voice, and Isabelle warmed to it, listening to her friend speak. "I know a chef who can create over a thousand bowls of broth a day, and yet she is considered weak for not holding a sword." Lydia said. "There are women who teach, women who fight, and women who birth children and raise them with good hearts. All are valid in their worth.”

Maia's grin turned impish. She raised her head and met Lydia's eyes, and then briefly looked at Isabelle. It was a smile made of fire and iron; strong and powerful. “When were ladies of the court allowed to be knights?" She asked curiously. "You are noblewomen, yes? Who let you pick up a sword?”

“We didn’t ask for permission.” Lydia said coolly. “We wanted to protect our future king."

Maia looked impressed, smiling into the fire.

Lydia shrugged. "Why should we have to stay back and wait for the men to return? We can fight beside them just as well.”

“And in-front.” Isabelle said cheekily.

Jace mimicked Lydia's gesture and simply shrugged. “It's true. They are pretty good in a fight.” He admitted, but his tone was proud, not begrudging. 

“The point is, times are changing." Isabelle said. "At least, we hope. We are here to help.” Isabelle felt the words leaving her tongue and relaxed. She looked between Jace and Lydia, who shared a glance, and then looked back to her. They nodded.

It was time to share their own secrets.

“Alec is no ordinary man.” Isabelle said slowly. She tried to keep her expression calm, but the fear in her heart took a few moments to overcome. It wasn't that she no longer trusted the werewolves, but this was her brother; a part her soul. Someone she would die for, or beside. 

She lifted her chin and said, “Alec is the Prince of Idris.”

It soothed her nerves when Luke didn’t even look surprised.

In fact, he grinned, and it was such a lovely smile that Isabelle returned it.

“I worked it out when he said goodbye to you." Luke admitted. His smile turned sheepish, and it was such a charming smile that everyone laughed.

He looked at Isabelle then, _really_ looked at her. "Siblings who share an unbreakable bond are hard to find in this age." Luke told her gently. "Loyalties are so often questioned. And I remember seeing the King and Queen once, on their coronation after the attack. Beside them stood two children. The girl lifted her chin bravely as she faced the crowd. The boy did too. I remember how they held each other’s hands, and looked to each other for comfort throughout the ceremony. You still have that bond. After so many years.”

The Alpha smiled. “Treasure it, because the ones you love sometimes leave you." His smile wavered, just for a moment. "And although there is no one to blame, you have to learn to live without them.” He glanced away.

The fire cast a warm glow around the circle, and Isabelle placed her hand on his. “Luke, I am so sorry." She said quietly. "You lost your family too. I know how that feels." Her chin wavered, and she fought back the tears threatening to sweep her into grief.

She shook it away and met Luke's eyes. "I promise you, we will wake Clary and work together to make sure violence never tears apart others.”

Luke smiled at that, looking around at his pack, and at the huts behind him. His expression was no longer haunted, but rather tender. “I did lose my family, but I also gained another one.”

The pack shifted, looking between each other and sharing smiles. There was something so familiar about their gestures, at how they knew when to smile and went to support each other. Isabelle looked at Jace and Lydia and smiled warmly at them, hoping it could convey her affections. 

They sat around the fire, enjoying the sounds and warmth. After a brief while, Luke stood, and the pack soon followed his lead. "I suggest we rest before your brother returns with his warlock." The Alpha said. 

Jace stood to stretch out his arms, grinning as he looked at Luke. “I don’t think Magnus would like being claimed like that.”

Luke snorted. “Hm. We'll see.” He had a mischievous look in his eyes that had Isabelle giggling. “And are you claimed by anyone, Lord Jace?”

At the same time, Jace and Lydia stood from their seats.

They turned to face each other with wide eyes.

Isabelle would have thought it was amusing, but they looked so shocked that she felt her stomach clench. She knew those looks. She knew desire, and how it could control you. She had longed for adventure, freedom, and love for years. 

_Love is worth it,_ Isabelle wanted to tell them. _Love is a magic we can all share._

They stood like that for a few moments, frozen and facing each other. The light from the fire suddenly seemed too bright, and Izzy tore her eyes away from her friends and kept herself silent. 

Jace hastily picked up his sword. “Uh, goodnight, Lydia. My Lady." His eyes widened a little more. "I mean, not _mine_. You don’t belong to me. Or anyone. That’s not what I meant at all.”

Lydia held up a hand in understanding. "I know. Why would I want to belong to you?” Lydia said, her cheeks flushing.

Until then, Isabelle didn’t think her eyes could widen anymore, but Lydia’s did, and her hand flew up to her mouth. “Forgive me. That was a terrible thing to say, I don’t know why I…” She shook her head hard enough that her braid almost came undone. “Goodnight.” She said abruptly. She began to walk out of the circle, and then awkwardly tapped Maia on the shoulder. “Where can I rest?” She mumbled.

As they left, Isabelle and Luke remained.

They shared a grin and then headed off to find their own shelter for the night.

~

The initial reaction was expected.

Isabelle knew this. They all did.

But the second that Alec heard Valentine’s name, his eyes widened, and his cheeks tinted with a vivid, angry red.

He opened his mouth, and Isabelle braced herself for angry words and worries. She knew her brother would be even more protective now, and while she understood his concerns, he had not listened to Luke’s story. She needed him to listen before he made a judgement.

Fortunately, Magnus decided to take the lead. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and thank him for being wonderful, because the warlock’s next words were so eloquent that Isabelle wondered if tapestries were woven in his honour.

“Alexander,” Magnus said, loudly. He held out a finger to the prince’s lips. “Shut up.”

An amused bark of laughter came from Luke, and Isabelle thought about joining in. She watched as her brother’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, closed it, and then blinked.

Could Isabelle remember the last person who had addressed Alec like that? Someone other than herself or Jace? It was amusing, endearing, and a little bit dangerous, but Alec didn't seem to mind. He only blushed more. 

“Let the dear werewolf speak.” Magnus said silkily. His smile was smug as the prince kept silent for once.

Isabelle linked her arm through Alec’s and whispered, “Have I told you before how much I like Magnus?”

Alec rolled his eyes, but still, he didn’t angrily snap. He looked thoughtfully at the clearing, and up at the tower.

He was deep in thought when Luke said, “Come. I will tell you the story, and then you can decide for yourself.” His eyes glistened with that playful light Isabelle had come to expect. “Your Highness.” Luke finished with a smirk.

For the second time that day, Isabelle watched as her brother’s eyes widened.

_Poor dear,_ Isabelle thought wickedly. _He’s not having the best of days._

But then Alec took the lead, walking beside Magnus, and there was something about their pace that captured her attention.

They walked…side by side. Which, Isabelle knew, was odd for Alec to do. He was so often followed by guards, or encircled by knights. He rarely had someone to stand beside him. Isabelle knew that she was different. She would always protect him; standing before, behind or beside.

This was, also, different. This was Alec trusting someone to challenge him. Her brother was standing with Magnus and letting him into his space, which was something that a prince of Idris did not have a lot of.

And yet, he was still sharing it with Magnus.

Isabelle began to wonder just how interesting there journey had been.

And then the spell around the tower, like it always did, stole her heart away. She could not stop gazing up at it. It was no longer dark and tall like a shadow. At least, not to Isabelle. Now, whenever she looked at it, she saw Clary. She could see her soul hidden inside the tower, waiting to be freed.

It was a strange feeling, to have shared your dreams with another and not know their face. To feel their emotions without touch. But magic was a force beyond anyone’s control, and Izzy knew that Clary would not harm her. She had years of comfort and kindness in her memories. She had visions of that familiar, red thread as it wrapped around her finger and tugged her into Clary’s orbit.

_I can’t wait to meet you, Clary Fairchild_. She whispered it again – not with her mouth, but with her mind.

~

As Luke retold the tale – and she felt a pang in her chest as the kind werewolf had to relive the memories again – Isabelle sat with Maia and Lydia outside one of the huts.

It was strange, and sort of relaxing, just to sit and feel the Shadowlands around them. No one spoke a great deal, and no one moved. There was the sound of the fire crackling, and the feeling that things were changing with every passing moment.

“When we wake Clary, everything is going to change. Isn’t it?” Lydia said quietly.

Beside her, Maia was sharpening a dagger. When Isabelle had admired it, the werewolf girl had beamed and proudly let her hold it. After that, she had sat with the two knights in peaceful companionship.

Their little trio was peculiar. Noblewomen who were knights, and a downworlder with eyes like a wolf but a smile like an angel.

“Do you think we’re too young?” She asked her two companions.

“For what?”

“To be out here, trying to change everything those who came before us did.”

“No.” Maia said firmly. Her dark skin was smooth; her cheekbones sharp. When she turned her head, Isabelle recognised a kindred warrior spirit in the werewolf. “We should be challenging what we know." Maia said. "We should be working together to welcome a new age. Besides, if I had listened to my parents, I would still be engaged to a bastard and burning his bread every night.”

“You fled from home?” Isabelle asked her. She leaned forwards, her interest peaked.

Maia nodded. “I did. I came here, to the Shadowlands. I thought that I could try to find a new home. Somewhere I could be free.”

“And you did? You found Luke’s pack?”

“No." Maia's expression turned angry. "Jordan found me first.”

“Your betrothed?” Lydia asked. She clenched her hands into fists angrily. 

“He didn’t take too kindly to my running away. He bit me.”

Izzy scrunched her nose up in disgust. “How petty. And foul. Did you put your dagger to good use?” She tried to grin, but then she saw Maia’s face and her smile dissolved in an instant.

“No. You don't understand." Maia's voice shook. "He _bit_ me.”

Isabelle gaped. She remembered her words after a few moments. “Oh. I'm sorry. He was a werewolf?”

“Yeah. I sure know how to pick a fine husband.” Maia snorted. She swiped sharply at her dagger. “I turned, and it was agonising. He helped me through it and begged me to return to Idris with him. He said we could have a new start together, and that no one would find out what we really were now. Monsters.”

“You’re not.” Lydia interjected. “He was.”

After a quiet moment, Maia carried on, but her shoulders were less hunched than before. “The first Change is the worst, because the pain is unbearable, but the second Change is…powerful. Your new strength kicks in, and so does the emotion. All the anger I had suppressed rushed into my blood.”

She looked away. “I tore out Jordan's throat and killed him."

She said it so simply that Isabelle took a few moments to process it.

She didn't feel horrified, or even scared. She just felt a pang of sympathy for the woman.

Maia smiled then. "Luke was kind enough to take me in after he saw me wandering around. Lone werewolves aren’t exactly welcome in most packs, you see. It usually means they’re troubled. Which I was. But Luke didn’t care what I had done."

Fondness softened the werewolf's eyes. "He said we all have pasts." Maia said. "We all have weight on our shoulders. He said that when we’re together, and as a pack, we can help lighten that weight. We can look after each other. Jordan might have ruined one life, but he led me onto the path to another, much better, life. Luke was right. We are a family.”

She blinked and glanced away, suddenly unsure again. “You’re noblewomen." She mumbled. "You live in a castle and dine on wine and cooked meat. Why did I think you would understand?”

Isabelle didn't take the bait. She didn't snap. She placed a hand on Maia's arm tentatively. “I lost my little brother in the attack." Izzy said. "In Valentine’s slaughter. I understand.”

Lydia nodded. “And my parents sent me away to train as a tutor, not a knight." She offered her own tale with a kind smile. "Maia, we’re not afraid of you. Working together is our best option. And the first step is for everyone to listen. To share stories and start to understand each other.”

“Thank you. You know, you’re a lot different from what I expected.” Maia admitted.

Izzy winked. “From a lady, or a knight?”

“Both.”

“Well, we like to break the rules.”

“No, _you_ do.” Lydia laughed. “I prefer to follow them. Usually.”

They sat together for a little while longer, sharing stories and listening. Really listening.

They listened to the silence and the pauses; hesitations and laughter. They bonded over swords and the best way to run in dresses. Maia also shared how certain fruits could make Izzy’s lips an even darker shade of red than the berries back in Idris. She handed her a little of the juice, and Lydia laughed as it dripped down her chin. Still, her friend took one in her hands for a few moments, looked across at the circle, and at Jace, and then slipped it into her pocket.

Isabelle didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would burst if she kept it there.

When Alec walked over, Izzy swallowed.

Her brother’s eyes were swirls of hazel, bright and fierce, and she was amazed at the changes she was seeing. He was beginning to hold himself taller, and to stumble less as well.

When Isabelle saw Magnus hovering behind him, she smiled.

_Good choice, big brother._

She liked Magnus, and how he was waiting for Alec made her smile.

It only grew wider when he looked over his shoulder at the warlock, turning back and letting her catch the brief look in his eyes. It was one she hadn’t seen Alec wear before. But she had seen it on many lords as they admired a beautiful painting. She had seen it in Lydia’s eyes as she sharpened her sword.

It was admiration and respect, but the blush on Alec’s cheeks said that his emotions ran deeper.

She folded it away for a later time.

Alec nodded. “Let’s wake Clary Fairchild.”

~

“Is everyone ready?”

“As can be.”

Magnus turned to the prince and smiled.

He hoped it was a supportive smile, because he knew the prince was anxious about waking the sleeping girl, and creating the portal.

“You can still delay this.” Magnus told Alec. He lowered his voice so that the other wouldn’t hear. “Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“No. You were right, before." Alec murmured. "I, uh...can’t judge Clary because of her father, just like I want to make my own path. This is why we’re here, after all. To work together; all of us. Downworlders, mortals, and anyone in-between.”

Magnus smiled warmly. “Spoken like a true leader, Alexander.” He said, allowing his expression to openly show his pride. He remembered sitting beside Alec by the fire, as they heard the story of Clary, the Morgensterns, and Luke.

As intrigued by the tale as he was, Magnus kept glancing down at Alec’s hand. It rested against the carved figure of the wolf's head, his long fingers spreading elegantly over the curved edge. He then realised how close they were sitting, and Magnus had shifted as carefully as possible.

Fortunately, Alec didn’t seem to notice, and Magnus hid his relief. He didn’t want to push Alec too far too soon. He had already feared overstepping when he’d silenced him before. But perhaps Alec needed someone to push him, and challenge him, just like Magnus was being challenged by the prince. He was constantly being surprised by Alec’s determination, and his hidden depths. He was compassionate to his knights and wanted to learn.

“Then, let us begin.” He called out. Beside him, Elias was stretching out his wings, readying himself as well.

It was usually best for a warlock to shake away their glamour before casting a spell, and even though they were creating a portal, Magnus let his glamour fade as well. He let his eyes turn yellow-gold.

The magic inside him tingled as he let his mark become revealed. It was like baring his heart to all who saw him.

He had often kept his eyes hidden back in Idris. Lords, ladies and peasants alike were less afraid of a normal-looking warlock than a man with eyes that looked like burnt gold. But as Magnus felt the glamour fade, he wanted to feel relief. He knew that his mark, and his kind, were considered inferior to most, but his glamour reminded him of one important thing.

_No one else is like me._

Perhaps it was a comfort he had told himself, time and again. Something to sooth his wounded ego every time a mortal rejected his true mark. He told himself that being different was better than being loved only partially. He found strength in his pride, and grew to accept his mark as a hidden secret.

Some days, he would look into the lavish mirror in his tower and slowly de-glamour his eyes. He would watch the light return; bold and vivid and like no other’s.

“Magnus?” Alec’s voice was gentle. “Are you in pain again?”

“Quite the opposite, my dear.” Magnus covered his nerves with a grin and forced his chin up, facing Alec with his glowing eyes. He had shown the prince his eyes before, but this time, it felt different. Important in a way that frightened Magnus.

The prince of Idris blinked. And then smiled.

“What is it?” Magnus heard himself ask.

“Uh, your eyes. They always catch me by surprise. In a good way. They’re…very you.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Compliments are not your forte.” He teased. “But thank you, Alexander. You can flatter me later.”

Smiling at Alec’s blush, Magnus gestured for Luke and Isabelle to step forwards. He stood facing the castle, as close as the protection spell would allow them.

“Isabelle, my dear, would you place your hand on my shoulder?” He smirked. “If it’s not too forward to ask milady?”

She grinned back. “Not at all.” She placed her arm on Magnus’ right shoulder, and he instantly felt the magic react.

Creating a portal would be the easy part. Balancing the Oak’s magic, the threaded connection that Izzy and Clary shared, and Luke’s memories, would be difficult. Magnus hoped that he was strong enough to stay focused; to anchor himself well enough and break through Anna’s spell. He sent a quick thought up to wherever Anna’s soul was now resting.

_I’m sorry, Anna. I have to do this. I promise, your life wasn’t taken in vain._

“Luke, stand by Isabelle's right. Please.” He commanded. “When you’re ready, place your hand on her arm and try to clear your mind. I need you to concentrate and think of Clary. Picture her in your mind, and try to flip through the memories you have together like it’s a book.” He spared a quick glance at the Alpha. “Any questions?”

Luke shook his head.

“Alec, stand back a little. If something goes wrong…” Magnus trailed off. “Please.”

_I don’t want you getting hurt._

“Be careful.” Alec pleaded.

Magnus closed his eyes, and began.

~

Alec felt the change in the air as soon as Magnus took a deep breath.

Although there were no words needed to create a portal, Magnus was moving his lips. They parted, soft and deep pink, and Alec couldn’t look away. It was a softer magic than the Oak’s, and Alec realised that this was Magnus’ own colourful energy. It was a dance between gentle and chaotic.

Isabelle had her eyes closed, as did Luke.

Suddenly, the protection around the tower began to shudder.

The ground below Alec’s feet began to tremor, and he glanced over and found Jace and Lydia standing closely together. His eyes followed a path down, at where their hands were linked. He didn’t have time to reflect on this, as another tremor shook the tower this time.

There was a flash of bright light, and then a shimmer appeared. It surrounded the tower in a similar way to the Guild’s spells, and Alec knew that Anna’s spell was feeling the full impact of the portal Magnus was trying to create.

Magnus was swaying slightly, his hips circling. Although the movements was alluring, and Alec felt heat coil in his stomach, it was quickly pushed aside by worry.

Without thinking, the prince stepped forwards and spread his palm over the small of Magnus’ back. His fingers lightly grazed Magnus’ hips, pushing slightly to keep him standing. The touch was so slight, but Alec felt it resonate across his skin, and sink deeply into his blood like fire.

Whether it was the magic itself, or the warlock creating the portal – the beautiful, alluring, compassionate man who Alec was growing more and more drawn towards – his hand was suddenly locked into place. As if in a dream, his other hand rested on Magnus’ waist. He stood to the warlock's left, his chest pressed into Magnus' forearm. The fabric of his robe was soft, and an anchor for his anxious heartbeat.

He could hear the blood rushing through his heart, and the way Magnus was breathing made his chest heave.  

“More.” Magnus suddenly whispered. His voice was low and deep and dipped in power.

Alec shivered at the sound. “What do you need?” He murmured, his lips close to Magnus’ ear. His palm was still low on Magnus’ back, and the hand against his side was pressing his body far too close to the warlock.

“Strength.” Magnus said breathlessly. “Alexander…I need your strength. _Please_.”

It was the last word that caught Alec’s own breath. It lodged halfway in his throat. The spell was demanding so much from Magnus, and yet, he asked. He didn’t demand or threaten. He simply said, ‘please’.

Alec wished he could tell Magnus something then.

He wished he could find the words, and the courage, to admit to something.

_I will always be the boy in the library,_ Alec thought. _You will always be beautiful. And I will always watch you leave._

These truths lingered in his mind. And in Alec’s heart. How he longed to believe things could be different. If he could let himself believe, let himself hope, perhaps the tenderness he so longed for would be enough to change expectations.

The strength of their connection suddenly overwhelmed Alec. The prince gasped, but no sound came out. The air in his lungs was now shared. The tips of his toes and each fingernail tingled as Magnus pulled energy from his body.

He plucked it so carefully, like how one might play an instrument, and Alec felt his energy moving. It wasn’t a painful feeling. Magnus wasn’t taking it by force, or hurriedly. He was taking his time; slowly, gracefully, thoughtfully caressing Alec’s energy into his own body.

The intimacy stoked a fire inside Alec. It warmed his chest, like a hand spreading over his bare skin. He was fully clothed, and yet he felt Magnus’ touch as clearly as anything he had ever felt before.

The shuddering softened, the ground stopped shaking, and another burst of shockingly bright light blinded the clearing.

Alec felt the ground disappear completely. His eyes were closed, and he couldn’t hear anything, but his hands were still holding Magnus, and the warlock’s touch, and magic, worked a heat of torturous desire around his body.

The ground was suddenly replaced with cold, hard stone.

Alec looked around, stumbling a bit as his vision returned. He blinked, and then blinked again. The room around them slowly became visible. It was a small, circular room with a large bed and an open window to one side.

Beside him, Magnus, Luke and Isabelle were blinking away the bright light as well.

Before them was a bed, and on the bed was a sleeping girl with red hair that spilled over the sides like flames.

Isabelle took the first step. She sank down on the bed, and simply gazed at the girl who was Clary Fairchild. She watched her with a soft expression for a few moments. The smile that tugged at her lips was hopeful, and Alec recognised the look in his sister’s eyes as a similar one to the time she had received her first sword. She was excited to have the freedom that came with defending yourself, and others. 

Her passion was clear as she smiled at Clary, and Alec caught his breath when Magnus leaned into him. He stumbled for a moment, and Alec caught him with both hands, holding him in place once more. 

"Thank you, Alexander." Magnus whispered into his chest. His voice was no longer silky, but raw and husky with power. 

The prince, hoping his fingers would soon stop trembling, gripped Magnus' waist and steadied him. 

Oblivious to all, Isabelle's voice whispered around the tower. 

“Wake up, Clary.” Isabelle said softly. “My name is Isabelle. Are you ready for an adventure?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you may have figured, I had to split this chapter into two...again! Oops.  
> The dance IS coming in the next chapter, I promise :D  
> What did you think of Luke? I'm really enjoying writing his character, and I hope the lydia/maia/isabelle dynamic came across as some nice, surprising lady bonding time <3  
> Also HAND KINK.  
> Okay, I have a seriously bad hand kink so PREPARE FOR MORE LATER ON. *evil laughs*.  
> Let me know your favourite parts/any lines you really liked.  
> Feedback means a lot if you have the time to comment :)


	9. A Dance Of Roses And Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone :)  
> Glad you liked the last chapter, and thank you for your lovely comments! <3  
> This is quite a long chapter, but a lot happens, and I hope you enjoy it!  
> Also, I made a playlist for the fic here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> And the fairy dance music is on there too, so if you like listening to music while you read, I'd definiately say check those songs out ;)  
> Happy reading! x

As she sat by Clary's sleeping figure, Isabelle reached out and ever so lightly brushed the girl's forehead. The gesture was sweet to Alec, something you would do without realising it.

The moment was soon broken.

Without warning, the redhead sat up and smacked Isabelle right in the forehead.

“Ow.” Izzy muttered. She rubbed a hand over her brow, still sitting close to Clary.

“Sorry!” The red-haired girl said. Her voice was scratchy, slipping in and out of volume. Alec realised then that she probably hadn’t spoken a word in years. No wonder she looked so dazed. Her hair was long, almost reaching her hips, and the dress she wore was a simple shift of light brown, slightly torn and mattered at the skirt. 

“Clary Fairchild.” Magnus addressed her gently. “Welcome back.” He took a step forwards, brushing Alec’s shoulder as he passed. The prince felt the warlock's touch again, not quite as fiercely as before – when magic had rushed through them – but it was still there. He felt it linger as he stepped past. 

“W-who are you?” Clary asked, her eyes widening. She tried to swing her legs around and stand, but Isabelle held an arm out and blocked her.

“Rest for a moment.” His sister pleaded, her eyes round as she gazed at Clary.

Clary blinked. Her eyes suddenly focused on Isabelle, as if seeing her for the first time properly. A faint blush spread across her pale cheeks. She blinked again, and when her eyes open, they were tear-filled. “Hi.” Clary greeted, her voice quieter. “I…know you. Your face is familiar.”

Magnus nudged Alec in the ribs and whispered, “Not the smoothest, but I suppose we can’t all be this suave. Or charming.”

Alec smiled back for a moment. He was oddly pleased to be teased, especially by Magnus. It was a display of comfort, that perhaps they were even friends. Alec decided that he liked this. He liked it a lot.

Izzy tucked her hair behind her hair almost shyly. "Hello. I’m Isabelle. I’m-“

“The princess.” Clary interrupted. She sat up a little, still staring at Isabelle. Everyone else in the room seemed to fade away as she smiled. “Have we met?”

“Not exactly.” Isabelle grinned sheepishly. “But you did choose me, Clary.”

“For what?”

“To help save you. To dream.” Isabelle suddenly frowned, and the way her expression shifted suddenly sent a new wave of fear around the room. Izzy gasped. “Clary…do you know where you are?”

Alec tensed. He felt Magnus tense beside him, and Luke did too.

They all waited.

Clary closed her eyes, and her lower lip trembled. She bit it. Her eyes opened, and they were sad now. “I don’t know who you are." She whispered. "Any of you. Not really.” She looked down at the bed, suddenly stood and rushed to peer out of the window. Her red hair shining in the sun, Clary turned around and her eyes were wild, pointing outside. “Where am I? Why am I in a tower? Was I asleep?”

Luke cleared his throat. “You’re in the Shadowlands." He explained calmly, but Alec could see his hands shaking by his sides. "You’re in a tower because, well, we were hoping you knew. And yes, you were asleep. For quite a long time.”

“Great.” Alec muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t even remember anything. This was a complete waste of time.”

Isabelle shot him a glare. “No, it wasn’t. Clary, do you remember anything?” She stepped in-front of the other girl and waited. In the small room, a tension fell, and it wasn't a nice sort of anticipation. It was filled with countless possibilities, and not many were hopeful.

Finally, Clary spoke. “Words." She answered, slowly. "Uh, a story. I think. They keep…” She made a circling motion with her hands. When no one questioned this, Clary cleared her throat and began:

 

“ _On one day of the phoenix’s rebirth, a quest will begin;_

_A tale of magic and knights and princesses unite._

_A broken prince will reshape a kingdom in his journey;_

_A tale of bridges, towers, lakes; a shadowed fight._

_Upon the day where the sun rises in its highest peak;_

_The final battle will sacrifice a life and reclaim a light._

_The Cup is found; a king is born._

_The Sword is found; a vow is sworn.”_

 

Magnus made an impressed sound. “That was rather poetic.” He admitted. “I might even shed a tear.” But then the warlock's expression hardened; growing serious. “It sounds an awful lot like a prophecy, which in my experience, means danger ahead. For all of us.”

“Wonderful.” Alec muttered. He turned around for a moment and paced, not quite sure where to start. They had awoken Clary, but all she had to offer their quest, and the demon attacks, was a twisted prophecy that would take far too long to decipher.

“Wait.” He suddenly said. He repeated some of the words back. “ _A quest will begin.”_

“I told you everything ties together.” Isabelle pointed out with a grin. She was looking very pleased with herself as Alec scowled.

He thought some more, musing the words out loud. _“Magic and knights and princesses unite._ We’re the knights. Magnus, perhaps you’re the magic, and Isabelle is the princess?”

“ _Princesses_.” Isabelle reminded him. “More than one.” She counteracted. She was standing beside Clary, and whether or not she realised it, the red-haired girl was leaning against her slightly. It was a familiar intimacy shared between old friends. Or something more. Something he would never have-

Alec looked away quickly. “Whatever." He said. "This can wait. Our next step is riding to the Seelie Court, yes? We need to find Helen and Aline. And warn the Court about the demon attacks. And the war that might be coming. And, the quest." He counted them off one by one, the responsibilities piling up.

“And Clary?” Izzy asked, folding her arms across her chest. She narrowed her eyes at the group. “Do you suggest we just leave her?”

Luke cleared his throat. "She can stay here with my pack." He offered. "We will take good care of her, and...I’m sure her memories will return sooner or later.” He glanced at Clary, his eyes pleading with her to understand. To remember him. 

There was too much tenderness in the room, Alec thought. He could feel it slipping beneath his skin, daring him to bare his own heart.

Magnus looked apologetically at the Alpha. “We stepped inside the spell, we didn’t break it." He explained. "The portal worked, but it clearly didn’t fully wake Clary, so to speak. Her memories are still asleep." He scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. "Perhaps…we can take her with us. If Isabelle is right, this prophecy ties us all together. The quest, the attacks, everything. It would be wise to see it through."

Magnus smiled at Alec. If you want my opinion, that is.” He said good-naturedly.

“I do.” Alec replied, a little too quickly. He scratched his ear and hid the rising blush. “I mean, uh, that sounds wise. You are our guide after all.”

“Lovely.” Magnus beamed. His expression was so joyous that Alec forgot to hide his burning cheeks. The warlock smiled. “So, we ride to the Seelie Court and try to return Clary’s memories to her. And for our original purpose, of course.”

“We’re still thinking about the Cup?” Isabelle asked. She sounded annoyed. “Demon attacks and prophecies are far more important, no?”

“ _The Cup is found_.” Clary said.

Luke frowned. “Hm?”

The girl swallowed nervously, but then straightened her shoulders. She was a strange creature, Alec thought. Clary was passionate like Isabelle, but quieter. She was also thinking a lot, Alec could tell. She furrowed her brow and spoke quietly, “ _The Cup is found._ It was part of the prophecy.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “It’s real? You’re sure?” 

He was unwilling to bring her along, but if the prophecy tied them all together, he didn't want to threaten their lives by challenging it.

“I’m not sure of anything.” Clary admitted. She looked up at Isabelle, and they shared a brief look. Clary looked away first, and when she spoke, there was a new confidence in her words. “But the words feel true. Whatever this Cup is, it’s waiting at the end of the journey.”

“So we have demon attacks to stop, memories to find, and an island to journey to?” Alec said dryly. “Proving your worth surely is a pain in the neck.”

“We’ll get through this.” Magnus told him gently. His hand hovered in the air, as if wanting to touch the prince, but then he pulled back. “Believe in this. Us. The quest.” Magnus added quickly. “Believe in those around you, and in yourself, and then, Alec, you will always win.”

“Is that a promise?” The prince asked.

“No.” Magnus admitted, and then winked. “But it’s damn good advice.”

Alec smiled at that. “Then let’s go.”

~

Explaining the situation to Jace and Lydia, the group decided to head to the Seelie Court together. They promised to return to Luke's pack as soon as possible, and the Alpha had reluctantly let them lead. He said goodbye to Clary, and the girl must've seen the caring expression in his eyes. She hugged Luke for a brief moment, and then smiled and promised she would return soon. Elias had offered to stay behind and place wards around the pack's home, and they parted in good faith.

Now, as she helped Clary up onto their shared horse, Isabelle then swung herself up carefully. She settled herself behind the girl with hair the colour of fire. Just before they set off, Clary held the reins gingerly and leaned back.

“How do I make her move?” She whispered.

“You ask.” Isabelle said with a grin. She made as if to settle her hands over Clary’s, but they she hesitated. “May I?”

Clary nodded, but the slight shiver that made her shoulders tremble made Izzy’s heart ache. She wanted to comfort the girl. The friend who had kept her dreams warm and colourful for years was now suffering, and Isabelle had no clue how to help.

Isabelle carefully placed her hands over Clary’s, bringing them down to gently press into the horse’s flank. She clicked her tongue against the back of teeth, and the horse began to move.

Izzy stared down at their hands for a few more moments.

Clary scoffed, but it was an amused laugh, not a cruel one. “You can let go now." She said, and Izzy was sure she was being teased. "I can handle myself.”

“So can I.” Isabelle grinned. “But a helping hand isn’t always a bad thing, Clary.”

“But I don’t know you.”

Isabelle suddenly flinched away. She placed her hands back into her own lap, as if she had been scolded with boiling water.

The words sprung tears into her eyes, and she blinked them away.

Red hair spun as Clary turned around in the saddle to face the princess. Her eyes were wide. “I’m sorry. Isabelle, I didn’t mean…” Clary exhaled shakily, and Isabelle could see the tension creasing her forehead. “I don’t know how to process this. Any of this. I wake up and I’m not at home in my village. I’m in a tower and there’s all these strange, beautiful people surrounding me."

Clary sighed, but her lips tugged up at the corners as she looked up at Isabelle and finished, "And there's a princess in armour who keeps smiling at me and…”

Swallowing quickly, Clary turned back around again. “I need my memories back, no matter how painful they are. I need to remember before I can think about…” She looked at Isabelle.

“Do you remember our dreams?” Isabelle asked. She had to ask. Even if Clary shook her head and firmly refused to believe they were connected, Izzy felt otherwise. She was so aware of Clary; the dip between her shoulder blades, the very real warmth radiating from the nape of her neck. She could feel their thighs resting together as the horse began to move, and it was almost enough for Isabelle to accept it; to accept that silence was best.

Just as she was about to try again, Clary cleared her throat. She was still angling away, but the emotion in her voice was strong enough to make Isabelle aware of their closeness.

“I sent the deer to you.” The girl said quietly. “I couldn’t comfort you myself, so I sent her to you. I remember that."

It took Isabelle a short while to decipher her meaning. She raced through her mind, trying to find a memory that fit with Clary’s confession. And then, when she did, Izzy could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks, colouring them a warm pink as she smiled.

“Thank you.” Isabelle whispered back. She remembered the animal that had comforted her after Max's death, and the attack. She remembered feeding it, and it staying by her side. 

They followed the others on horseback, not speaking, but not ignoring each other either. Halfway through their journey, the horse bounced a little over a rocky part of the ground. Clary jumped a little, and Isabelle wound an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

“Oh, sorry, I…”

Isabelle was about to apologise when Clary placed her hand over the arm pressing to her stomach. Clary’s fingers grazed feather-light touches over Izzy’s arm, and she held her breath, waiting.

Soon after, Clary placed her hands back on the reins.

Isabelle didn’t unwind her arm, and Clary didn’t ask her to.

~

Magnus took a quick glance over his shoulder at the group. He turned back to Alec, who was riding quietly beside him and grinned. “Your sister seems to be quite the talented wooer of men and women.”

“W-what?” The prince blinked. He turned in his saddle, narrowed his eyes and turned back to face Magnus. “She can woe anyone she likes, but not Valentine’s daughter.”

“So,” Magnus said, slowly. “It doesn’t bother you that…Clary is a woman? And so is your sister?” He finished carefully. He was afraid to overstep, but his curiosity won out. As it so often did.

“It bothers me that Clary has no memories." Alec replied with a sigh. "It bothers me that this whole situation could be a trap while Valentine’s sorcerers are off somewhere creating more portals. I think we have more problems than who woos who. W-why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason.” Magnus lied smoothly. He glanced away, using the excuse of surveying the trees to hide his smile. Alec’s reasons were good ones, but his grumpiness amused Magnus to no ends. As did the prince’s protectiveness. He didn’t mind who Isabelle wanted to wrap her arms around, as long as that person wasn’t the daughter of an evil, exiled lord.

“Before we arrive at the court, I should warn you to respect the fair-folk customs. No matter how strange they are, they mean well."

“I thought they were cunning creatures.”

“Oh, they are.” Magnus replied cheerfully. “But aren’t we all? The fae have become quite frustrated with mortals over the years. They used to be close, exchanging gifts and celebrating together, but since the Accords, there has been a lot of tension. So when we greet the Court, I suggest we respect their customs.”

“Of course.” Alec said. He scratched the back of his neck, hesitant. “Uh, Magnus, are you…still leaving?”

“What?” Magnus stared at him in surprise. It took him a few moments to work out why Alec had asked.

“Oh.”

He swallowed, glancing away. As they rode, Magnus thought about why he was still here. Of course, there were lots of possibilities that made sense. He was here for the quest; for glory and pride. He was here for the riches that the knights had promised. He was here to help put a stop to the darkness threatening downworlders.

But Magnus knew he was here for selfish reasons as well.

He was here to befriend the princess and enjoy her compassion. He was here to argue with Jace and admire his fierceness. He was here to watch a shy prince journey into a becoming a hero. And he was eager to stay beside him, if Alec allowed him to.

After a few moments, he allowed himself to smile. “I’m staying, Alexander.”

Magnus was tempted to add, ‘for now’, but the words faded away.

The prince’s name on his lips would always weigh down his tongue for a few moments after. It took time for Magnus to say it without losing his breath. Ever since he had replenished his magic through the Oak, Magnus had felt that strange connection between himself and Alec flaring up at sudden moments.

When he had gently touched him during the portal, Magnus had felt his senses flood with power. Every detail became clear. He could feel the slight scrape of Alec’s fingernail, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as his shoulder brushed the prince’s broad chest. His eyes were closed, but he could feel them burning beneath closed lids. They wanted to look at Alec.

Magnus had refocused his energy and completed the portal, but Alec’s touch was still dangerously imprinted into his thoughts. He could not stop thinking about it, or imagining how different it would feel if those hands touched his skin.

How would they feel without layers of robes and tunics between them?

It was one belief that he could befriend the prince. It was another thing entirely to consider wanting him in such a way. Magnus thought that desire could be pushed aside, swallowed and blinking out like a match, if only the other person returned the favour. If only Alec would make it clear that he had no interest.

Until then, Magnus would have to fight down that awful, powerful, undeniable feeling of hope.

Hope, the warlock realised, was a creation that could topple kingdoms. It could start fires that burned the hearts of many men and women. It could crush dreams, but re-create them also. It could challenge everything, and create anything.

Alec’s answering smile was almost infuriatingly sweet to Magnus. The warlock watched as the prince ducked his head, his cheeks a slight pink and his dark hair a soft mess of raven-coloured strands.

He watched Alec smile and found hope in the dimples in his cheeks.

He found hope in the long road ahead; the journey that awaited them.

~

“Whoa.” Lydia exclaimed. 

On the horse beside her, Jace nodded in agreement. "My thoughts exactly. Well, actually, it was a rather long string of curses that I thought would break the moment. So I kept quiet.”

“A wise decision, Wayland.” Magnus teased. Jace simply shrugged in agreement.

Alec looked between them and couldn’t help but feel some of the tension leaving his shoulders. When had the warlock and his friend started agreeing? And why did it make him so delighted that they were?

It didn’t matter to Alec that Jace liked Magnus. Why would it?

He repeated the questions to himself until he could stand it no longer.

“Do we wait for an invitation or...?” Alec asked loudly. 

Magnus nodded. “Yes. But, you’re already causing quite the stir, Alexander.” He tilted his chin upwards, looking above Alec’s head.

Alec followed his direction and gasped. Above them, and above the dirt path they had stopped at, was a row of shimmering green group of faeries. Their tiny wings moved so fast that they were a blur of colour. Their pearls of laughter were innocent and joyful. They hovered in the air, a safe distance from the knights; watching and occasionally darting forwards, only to rush back.

“Pixies.” Magnus announced, quite fondly. “Harmless, but cheeky buggers sometimes. They love gardens and children and all things happy. If you've ever found yourself missing a boot, or a comb, a pixie probably has it happily stored away somewhere.”

“I did lose a comb last spring.” Jace admitted.

Magnus looked at the knight. “Perhaps we can ask the Seelie Queen to find it for you, hm?”

Jace’s eye lit up. “Really?”

Magnus nodded seriously, his expression innocent.

Behind him, Clary and Isabelle hid their grins behind their hands. Lydia, who was riding beside Jace, glowered at Magnus. Loudly, she said, “I’m sure you just misplaced it, Jace.” She said kindly.

Alec turned away before his own smile gave him away. Trust Jace to pipe up about his grooming.

Despite their jokes, Alec could feel the tension in the group. They were in fae territory, and had no idea what to expect. What kind of welcome would they receive, if they even received one at all?

Alec reminded himself that Helen and Aline were likely here, alongside Catarina. He hoped that their presence would prove the quest’s legitimacy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Izzy’s gasp.

“Meliorn!” She cried happily.

Alec turned his gaze back to the path.

Where it had been a bare stretch of grass before, now stood the familiar fae. His pointed ears were quirked slightly as he listened. The blue streaks in his hair were vivid and strong, and his eyelids shimmered with a powder similar to the one Magnus often wore.

The last time Alec had seen the faerie was on the bridge, and he had been simply dressed. Now, he wore a white tunic with elegant gold swirling over the cloth. His arms were covered in vines and bangles of different colours, and the jewels in his hair shimmered under the sunlight.

He bowed to the group. “Forgive the delay.” He said smoothly. “I was overseeing preparations for tonight.”

“Oh?” Izzy asked. She had dismounted and walked to the front of the group, greeting the fae with a bow.

Then, in a very Isabelle-like fashion, she broke into a grin and hugged him.

Meliorn embraced her in the gentle way that Alec had come to expect from the fae. He looked up at the group. “Tonight marks our Majesty’s day of birth. There will be grand feasting, dancing, and fae from all across the land. The night where different courts may come together and celebrate. I’m sure you will be more than welcome, once you have an audience with the Queen.”

Alec felt his eyes widen. “A-an audience with the Seelie Queen?” 

“I believe she would be most intrigued to meet you.” Meliorn smirked. “And you have friends waiting for you.”

At that, Alec forgot about his own worries. He leaned forwards on the horse. “Helen is well?”

“Yes.” Meliorn said. He hesitated for a moment, and then took a step closer. “Your Highness, may I advise you to keep your names hidden?" He asked, his expression grave. "Names are extremely powerful to fair-folk. Be careful who you share such power with.”

Magnus nodded. “It’s true. Some of the Unseelie Court folk can be quite mischievous. Love spells, bad luck charms. Things like that. Best to keep your name tucked away. All of you.”

Meliorn smiled. “But the Queen has been most curious to meet the mortals seen in her lands.”

Quickly, Isabelle took the faerie's hands in her own. “We do not mean any harm." She implored him. "We would like to thank her for caring for our friends, and if she has any information she can offer us.”

Meliorn tilted his head a little. “About?” He asked.

“The best way to reach Alicante.”

“The mythical island?”

Alec bristled at the other man's scoff. “Says the faerie." He said coolly. "Aren't you legends in someone's story?”

Meliorn almost smiled. “You raise a fair point. Wait here.”

The faerie suddenly disappeared.

“Why can’t they use horses like everyone else?” Jace asked dryly.

“Jealous?” Magnus retorted.

“Oh, yes. Completely.”

Even Magnus had to smile at Jace’s honesty.

When Meliorn appeared again a few moments later, he smiled. “The Queen welcomes you to her Court. If you would follow me, I can take her to you.”

As they rode along the path, Magnus drew his horse a little closer to Alec. “Would you like me to explain our quest? The Queen can be…vague. She is very old, and very powerful, and will not hesitate to use you to suit her own purposes."

He placed a hand on the prince's, smiling kindly. "I’m not trying to frighten you, Alec, but I am warning you." Magnus said. "The fair-folk can be cunning. Not always, but you must remember the tension with the Accords. Mortals may not be high on their list of favourites right now.”

“I understand. Hopefully we change that.” Alec smiled, and Magnus returned it.

As they rode, Alec realised there was movement coming from both sides of the trees.

The forests were filled with lights and whispers. Creatures were peeking out to see the riders.

They reached the end of the pathway, and a huge castle came into view. Unlike the castles in Idris, this one was destroyed. But not in a tragic sense. It blended into the forest so that the open roof seemed perfectly normal, and the vines growing along the walls made sense.

It was a part of the land, and although it was small, it was tall and sat gracefully in a glade filled with huts that were nestled into trees. Alec stretched his neck high and saw large, strong vines and ropes connecting them above their heads.

All around them were signs of celebration. Colourful blossom was showering gently down on them, and dyed cloth hung from the trees, swaying in the breeze.

Alec caught a bright red petal on his palm. He stared at it for a moment.

The colour shone into his eyes, and it reminded Alec of that first, tender bite into a berry. 

They dismounted their horses as they turned onto a pathway that led up to a large temple.

There were pillars and large marble beneath their feet, but the sky loomed over them. There was no roof, and dozens of creatures hovered in the air as the knights walked into the throne room. And it was a throne room, where faeries rushed to align large banquet tables. Flowers were being thrown around and lined up in vases.

There was magic in the air, and laughter too, and Alec marvelled at the preparations.

Until he saw the Queen.

She was seated on the throne and watching them with an expression that instantly reminded Alec of a hawk. If a hawk had blood red lips, hair that tumbled down its shoulders in midnight blue waves, and wore a crown with thorns, flowers and feathers. Her dress was like nothing Alec had ever seen before. It was a deep purple colour, and reached the bottom of the throne, with the train spilling out like red wine over the top of the steps. Her arms were bare, vines wrapping around them from her elbow to her fingers, where rings of thorn and brambles wrapped tightly around them.

Beside her stood creatures tall and short, giggling and silent. It was a Court of gatherers from all across the Shadowlands; coming from different courts to celebrate their Queen’s day of birth.

Alec had never felt more intrusive in his life.

“Welcome, travellers.” The Queen called out to them.

Alec knelt on one knee and inclined his head.

He was shocked when a ripple of gasps echoed around the court.

“A mortal who understands respect?” The Queen almost smiled. “How…quaint.”

Alec swallowed back a retort, already feeling anxious enough. Beside him, he saw that the others had mirrored his gesture, kneeling carefully. Their hands were hovering a little by their swords, but really, Alec didn’t blame them.

“Why have you come to Her Majesty's Court, knights?” A faerie beside her asked. She had wings that stretched out, swaying slightly. Her skin was the shade of lavender.

Magnus stood, his robes fitting in against the fair-folk’s clothing. They were surrounded by long, shimmering clothes and eyes that glistened with dust and crushed berry-stained lips. The knights, in comparison, were in riding gear and tunics.

They had gauntlets and swords; the faeries had songs and flowers.

Alec felt out of place, desperately wishing he could flee from the room. 

“Your Majesty, I am the warlock of Ash Tower.” Magnus said smoothly. Once again he positioned himself slightly before the others, drawing the Queen’s, and the room’s attention away from the knights. “We come seeking council, and hope we might be of use to you also.”

“Use? Do go on.” The Queen sounded amused now.

“Downworlders are under attack.” Magnus began plainly. From anyone else, the words would sound like a threat, but Magnus spoke calmly, and surely. “There are demons being brought back into our world, into our home, our _sanctuary_. We are hoping to find out why, and stop these attacks.”

“You want scouts.” She said, narrowing her eyes.

“That would be a start.” Magnus nodded. “And we are also questing to find the Mortal Cup.”

Another round of gasps and whispers floated around the room.

Magnus ignored them and carried on. “We believe these events are connected. Whoever is opening portals could very well be after the same Cup. We ask that you concern yourselves with these matters. Soon." He smiled, but it was a charming smile dipped in displeasure. "After the celebrations, of course.”

The Queen did not speak for a short while. She simply watched them, studying them with quick eyes. She stood, her dress shifting as she moved and took a few steps down. "Before we continue this, can anyone here vouch for you?”

She held up a hand before Izzy could speak. “Besides my knight.” She looked at Meliorn, who stepped back and looked apologetically at Isabelle.

When no one else made a move, The Queen smiled knowingly. Her expression grew stormy in anger. “You see, you have come into our court and given us no reason to trust you." She waved her hand in dismissal. "A group of high and mighty mortals, and a warlock with a reputation for staying loyal to those who have shunned us.”

“I do not choose sides.” Magnus said smoothly. “But this is an event that affects all of us. Mortals and downworlders.”

“I know that." The Queen snapped. She took another step down, looming over them. "Why do you want scouts to search out an island that is luring away our kind? We are staying out of it.”

Still, Magnus did not back down. “With all due respect, you are only delaying the inevitable. Soon you will have to fight back." He gestured around the room. "We are asking you to start now, and save many downworlders.”

As the court started to buzz with hushed whispers, The Queen turned and took up her position on the throne once more.

She held up a finger. Silence fell instantly. 

“Very well. I will think it over." The Queen said. "In the meantime, why don’t you stay for the celebrations?" Her red lips twitched in dark amusement. "Perhaps you can return to Idris and share your tales of the wicked fair-folk.”

“I’m not frightened of you.” Isabelle said. She said it in that impassioned way of Isabelle’s, that only she could get away with. “And I would be honoured to attend the celebrations, Your Majesty.”

The Queen looked mildly impressed. “You must be the princess my knight has assured me is an ally to us.”

She laughed when the knights bristled. “Oh, you are not so ignorant after all. Meliorn has not revealed your name, I assure you." The Queen waved a hand again. "I could easily find out, but I do not care. I will have my personal servants show you to your quarters, and then you may share our night with us."

Isabelle glanced at Clary, and opened her mouth to speak, but Magnus grasped her hand tightly and shook his head. His expression was unusually solemn, and Isabelle understood the meaning.

For whatever reason, Magnus did not think it was wise to share Clary Fairchild with the Court. At least, not now.

The Queen smiled again. "I will ask, once more, can anyone here vouch for you?"

Alec pressed his lips firmly together. He waited out the silence. 

He knew what The Queen was up to. She was proving a point. They had no allies here. No friends, except for Meliorn, who was a single fae in a court of many.

Movement to the left captured their attention.

“I can, Your Majesty.” A tall faerie with silvery-blonde hair and thin lips stepped forwards. She held herself strangely, shoulders hunched over. A thin bandage was wrapped around her torso, and it was the cloth that made Alec’s eyes widen.

“H-Helen?” He asked.

She nodded.

It was true. The faerie standing before them was indeed their friend.

But she was changed.

Although her form was the same - slender and tall - her eyes were brighter, and had a shine to them that was definitely not mortal. Her pointed ears were even sharper, especially as her hair was braided and tucked over the tips of them. She wore a silver-gray gown that draped elegantly, and when she raised a hand, a bracelet of daisies wrapped around her wrist.

“Forgive me.” She whispered to Alec.

Alec opened his mouth to say something, but he was speechless.

He thought about her past. All he knew was that she and Aline were orphaned. He had only cared about their loyalty. Perhaps he should have asked for more, but as he looked at Helen, there was much more that was similar than different. Her lips were still thin, and he remembered how many smiles they had shared during training, and dinners. He remembered running through sword drills, and welcoming guests into the castle with her beside him.

This was his _friend_.

And so he held out a hand and pulled Helen up from the curtsy. And then he hugged her. In front of the entire court, the prince of Idris hugged his fae friend. He could feel the tension in her shoulders suddenly loosen, and Helen hugged him back tightly and whispered, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I-I…”

“Not now.” Alec told her gently, but firmly. “All I care is that you are alive. You gave us all quite the scare. Where is Aline? And Catarina?”

Having been dismissed, they were being led away from the court, and into the long corridors. Marble floor greeted their feet, and faeries took their horses away and led them to a large stable as the knights were taken into the castle.

Helen led them quietly, once everyone else had the chance to hug her. She had blinked at Clary's arrival, but when Isabelle stood close to her, Helen had smiled for the first time that day. 

“Catarina is in her quarters, writing letters to some of her warlock companions." Helen explained. Even her voice was different, softer and wispy. "Aline is…helping. With preparations.” Helen frowned. “I thought she would be…”

She trailed off, lost in thought as they walked around the grounds.

They passed fair-folk of every size, colour and shape. Each one reacted in similar fashion; gasping, or giggling, and sometimes both. Alec ignored their looks and focused on taking one step, and then another.

Tonight, they would celebrate, and Alec would be sure to have a plan by the end of the-

“Big brother, please tell me you are going to enjoy tonight.”

“What?" Alec scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Izzy, come on. I won’t attend the celebration. I…”

He broke off. He didn’t actually have a reason, but attending a faerie dance seemed foolish. Not because he was a prince, but because he had never been a good dancer. Or, at least, he had never found someone he wanted to dance with.

And then Magnus grinned. "You might enjoy yourself, Alexander." He teased.

The prince was silent still.

“There’s nothing to be done now, is there?" Isabelle continued to persuade him. She came to stand beside him as they walked, poking him in the ribs. "Are you going to rush and demand the Queen for an answer on her birthday? That seems dumb, even by your standard.”

She grinned. “We are attending a faerie celebration, Alec. This is what tales are made of. I, for one,” She linked her arm through Clary’s, and the other girl smiled. “, am going to enjoy myself. _Immensely_.”

“She does have a point.” Jace added.

Even Lydia had a smile on her face. “When else are we going to be able to attend a dance like this, Alec?" She said. "I think we should enjoy ourselves. For one night.”

Alec knew they were right. They would only have tonight, after all.

_Before we get back to chasing demons and magical cups and wicked sorcerers._

Alec suddenly froze outside their chambers for the night.

“What do you mean….a _dance?_ ”

~

“I can’t wear this.”

“Why not? It was chosen for you.”

“I can wear my own tunic. Thank you.”

The faerie standing before him, in the doorway, blinked in surprise. Then, a sweet smile washed away her hesitation. She was wearing a simple bark-coloured cloth dress, with tiny pine cones decorating the neckline. Although her dress reached the floor, her hooves peeked out from underneath.

She held the pile of clothing out once more. “For _you_.” She explained again.

Reluctantly, Alec took the outstretched bundle into his arms and sighed.

The faerie, who Alec was sure was a faun from the Spring Court, grinned happily at him. “I will come and fetch you when the celebrations begin.” And without another word, she spun around and skipped off down the corridor, her hooves clicking daintily.

From behind him, in the room, Jace laughed. “Already thinking of backing out?” He teased Alec. His smile faded when he saw the borrowed clothes in the prince's arms. “Hey! At least you have a shirt to wear.”

“You don’t?” Alec snorted.

Jace shrugged, holding up the simple pair of cotton trousers. There was no garment to cover his chest, only a handful of necklaces with wooden charms. “They have good taste. I just worry about the Queen. She might want to abduct me and keep me as her muscular, mortal husband or something.”

“Or something.” Alec laughed. His fingers hesitated at the edge of his tunic, about to pull it up and over his head. He glanced around. It was only he and Jace in the room, as Magnus had decided to share a chamber with Catarina. He had declared it was unfair for Jace to live with himself if he saw Magnus bare. 

Still, Alec gingerly held the thin, fine garment in his hands and gulped. It was not a tunic, but it was made in place of it. Deep green in colour, the delicate material was soft and translucent. Under any light, his chest would show completely through the top.

The fit was formal, and Alec relaxed when he shrugged it on. The matching pants were just as elegantly made, and there was surprising comfort in no longer wearing a belt for weapons. Or a heavy tunic. The bow he loved was carefully placed on the chair. 

Jace gave him an approving grin, walking around the bed to stand before him. “Izzy was right. Before, I mean. We can give ourselves one night." Jace's smile then became proud, but also kind. "You can give yourself a night, Alec. You have given your all for this quest, and we all appreciate that. I know your parents will do, and the kingdom. But, Alec, you won’t do anyone any good if you’re so…tense.”

“And dancing is the solution?”

“Always.” Jace said solemnly. They shared a laugh, and then Jace tried again. “I’m serious, Alec. We have to wait until the Queen gives us more information anyway. We can’t just rush off into the unknown and find the island, can we?”

Concern mixed with fear inside Alec's chest. He swallowed and asked, nervously, “What are you saying, Jace?”

What had Jace realised? Was he aware of something that even Alec hadn't let himself think?

His friend smiled, and turned around to change into his own clothing. As he changed, Jace spoke. “I’m saying that…you shouldn’t feel bad for wanting other things. We’re forming a new age. It’s time for change, and it’s happening right now. You can unite us all, Alec.”

Alec felt the words sink it, further than ever before. Only this time, unlike when his parents had demanded hard work and expectations from it, Alec almost felt…pleased. Thankful. He was grateful for Jace’s words, and even more grateful for his support.

What he would be without Jace was not something Alec cared to linger on.

And what if Jace was right? What if, as a prince, and future king, Alec could unite the land? Not without help, of course, but he was beginning to realise that this quest was becoming a quest for not only a cup, but a quest for the future.

A quest for hope and peace.

And the more support he had – warlocks, werewolves, faeries, and his knights back at Idris – Alec knew that the demons and the sorcerers’ plans would fail. Alec chose to believe that.

He wasn’t alone.

With a sudden weight off his shoulders, Alec stared down at his new clothing and smiled. “Alright. Let’s celebrate.” He said to Jace. He sent up a quick prayer, hoping that it wasn’t going to be a reckless decision.

Jace clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “My friend, we're going to show these faeries how we have a good time.”

~

It had been a while since Magnus had been to Court.

He last visited the Seelie Queen’s court many winters ago, when it was frosted over in vivid whites; icicles hanging from windows. Faeries would shake snow off their wings like it was ash.

Now, it was flourishing in summer colours. Warmth shone down from the sun, casting the halls of the open court with golden light that caught every colour. Pale pinks shimmered, bold red grew even brighter.

And with the added decorations of petals, flowers, vines and ribbons, the court was a delight to the eye. Especially Magnus’ eyes. He had always appreciated a good celebration. And the faeries, undeniable, had excellent taste.

“And you want to stay with them?” Catarina was asking as they walked through the gardens. 

“Perhaps.”

“I know you, Magnus. You’ve already decided. You care for them.”

As he walked with Catarina and discussed their options, the sun had lowered. Faeries began gathering all over the courtyard, and the fields outside. There was a large clearing filled with flowers that some faeries had begun playing music in.

“It’s not about me.” Magnus sighed. He felt oddly defensive. Why did he need to explain why he wanted to stay? “Their quest affects us all, I’m certain of it. If I leave them now, with so much dangerous waiting…”

Catarina laughed, a bubbly, warm sound. “You wouldn’t leave those who need help. It’s not in your nature, Magnus Bane." She said, smiling at him fondly. "You may be stubborn, and you may try to cover it up with those damn walls, but you have a good heart. You always have. Even after so many years, you have never confused power with hate.”

They left the gardens and headed back inside.

Magnus closed his eyes, fighting against the confusion welling up inside him. Why was it so hard to admit? That he cared? 

_You are afraid._

“I wish I could go.” He muttered, kicking stubbornly at a rock.

Catarina threw an arm around his shoulder and kissed his forehead. “No, you don’t.” She said quietly.

After a moment, Magnus sighed. “Stop being so…right.”

Catarina smirked. Her full lips curved gracefully. “Never." She said happily. Her expression fell a little, and she didn't step into the castle with him. She placed a hand on one of the tall pillars and met his eyes. "Now, I must leave you, my friend. I have warlocks to gather.”

Surprise, and then disappointment, washed over Magnus. “You do?”

Catarina nodded. “Elias and I are going to return to the Guild. We want everyone as aware as possible about the demon attacks. And if they can help at all. I’m sure we’ll see each other again very soon.” She hugged Magnus before he had time to protest. “Look after yourself.” She murmured softly.

“I always do.”

He was surprised when Catarina shook her head in response. She held his hand for a moment. “When you care about someone, Magnus, you…forget. Sometimes. Remember to look after this heart of yours.” She placed her palm over his chest and smiled. “It’s a good one.”

She took a few steps down, and away, and then turned back to him. Her grin was playful. “Enjoy the dances. Keep yourself to one faerie this time.”

Magnus winced. It was a reminder of his wilder days. He’d almost caused a war between two brothers the last time he was here. One wanted to marry him, and the other wanted to murder him.

_Really, it’s quite frustrating being this beautiful._

“Or prince.”

“Hm?” He blinked in surprise.

Catarina smiled sweetly, toying with a strand of her dark hair. “What did I say?” She asked innocently. “I was merely pointing out the obvious. That he is quite handsome.”

“Alec is completely off limits.” Magnus said quickly.

“Oh, him? I was talking about the Queen’s son. Interesting.” She winked. “I see where your mind went.”

“Both would be foolish options.” Magnus said dryly. He pushed down the heat rushing into his blood. Even thinking about the prince in his arms was unwise. He didn't need to imagine what holding Alec would feel like. 

Catarina nodded in agreement. “True, but then again, one looks at you and blushes an awful lot, don’t you think?”

And with that, his friend walked away, leaving Magnus with a maddening grin that just wouldn't go away. 

Although, he really didn't try that hard.

Magnus turned to watch the final gatherers arriving, a smile pulling at his lips the entire time.

Later on, as Magnus approached his chambers, he paused. He went across the hallway, and hesitated by the prince’s door. He raised a fist, ready to knock. He swallowed. What was he doing? What did he need to speak to Alec about?

He could pretend it was urgent, but Magnus knew it would only hurt later.

It would hurt to start to care for Alec in a way that neither of them could act upon.

Magnus sighed, turned around and entered his chambers for the night. Through the window, he could see that the moon was rising slightly, and the celebrations were well under way. Soon, all of the courts would offer a gift to the Queen. Usually, it was a performance. Sometimes, a rare ballad, or a story shared.

And then a knock sounded at the door.

_Alexander_.

He rushed to the door, quickly ran a hand through his hair, plastered on a smile and opened the door-

“Hello, warlock." A faerie greeted him with a smirk. "I am here to deliver you to the celebrations. My name is Luciana.”

She waited with an impish smile, cocking her head at him.

Magnus grinned. “Nice try, my dear. You can call me, 'handsome'. Or 'unknown beauty'. And you can also wait outside while I change.” He wiggled a hand at her and she laughed, rolling her eyes but going to stand by the other wall.

She leaned against it and stared pointedly at him. “By all means, make me wait as long as possible.” Luciana muttered.

Magnus closed the door and unbuttoned his robes, folding them neatly on the bed and sighing.

There was a soft, moss-green garment for his bottom half, and he slipped his legs into them. The material was comfortable and rested low on his hips, but when he turned to slip on the tunic, he realised there was only a sleeveless, deep red piece that was cut right down the middle.

There was no undershirt, just the scarlet overthrow that revealed his plane of warm brown muscles for all to see. He slipped his arms through it, and turned to risk a glance at the mirror. He had warn faerie clothes before, but for some reason, tonight, he felt a little unsure.

No one could deny that he was handsome, but Magnus felt strangely bare. He snapped his fingers, dusting his eyes with shimmering purple, and then lining them in midnight blue charcoal.

His bare feet didn’t make a sound when he padded back out of the door.

The faerie, Luciana, smiled at his new attire. She held out a crown of carefully woven twig, red flowers, and small beads that looked like tiny shells and stones. She placed it on top of Magnus’ head and stepped back, smiling. “I chose well.” She grinned.

He thanked her with a small bow and turned to leave.

Luciana held up a hand. “Not so fast, warlock.” She said, but not unkindly. She didn’t sneer at his namesake like some people did. She was curious, rather than nervous. “Hold out an arm.”

He narrowed his eyes, but complied.

A small wooden bowl appeared in the faerie’s hands, and she looked into it thoughtfully for a few moments and then pulled a delicate, thin vine out. The vine was green, a slight shade darker than Magnus’ pants, and he watched as Luciana began to wrap it around his arm. "Your future." She teased cryptically. 

The strange bracelet was woven in a criss-cross pattern from his wrist to his shoulder.

It was without colour, until she took a step back.

Suddenly, flowers began to appear in the vines.

Magnus flinched only a little, watching as red and white roses blossomed. They were small, and only a handful of thorns grew, but their magic tingled Magnus’ skin. It was a different kind of magic, an ancient one that belonged to the fair-folk. It left him breathless, excited and anxious all at once.

“Hm.” Luciana giggled. “You certainly have a…curious future.”

Magnus blinked.

Was this a similar enchantment to the one on his castle? Did flowers grow that had meaning to each wearer?

“Oh, and your friends have already joined the court.” Luciana told him. “The dancing will start soon.” Before he had time to ask for anything more, the faerie was skipping away, tossing blossoms into the air as she walked.

Magnus took the staircase to his left down to the clearing, welcoming the chaotic beauty of a faerie night celebration; the roses and vines wrapping around his arm like an embrace.

~

“I’m not saying I’m happy that demons are attacking the Shadowlands,” Izzy began, twirling around. “, but I sure would like to wear clothing like this forever.”

She beamed at Lydia, who was running her hands through her hair for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Lydia, you look beautiful.” Isabelle told her. “Please stop fidgeting.”

Lydia’s cheeks flushed. Her gown was a simple white, floaty dress, with red leaves stitched into the neckline and the bodice. It was simple and elegant and very Lydia, who was staring at her reflection with wide eyes.

“It’s just…I like wearing chainmail and riding gear for a reason.” Lydia admitted. She sighed, and her hair – for once, loose and arranged over her shoulders in gentle waves and a single braid – moved a little. “It makes me feel…protected.”

Izzy, meanwhile, was enjoying herself. “A life lived without a little danger, and a little dancing, is hardly worth living. Right, Clary?”

“O-oh. Sure. I guess.”

Their mysterious maiden was sitting in the corner of their shared chamber, plucking absently at her blue gown. It only reached her knees, but a thin train fell down behind Clary, and her eyes had been painted with midnight blue swirls and silver, crushed powder.

The whole effect made her look elegant; the cool blues and silvers contrasting her fiery hair beautifully. Clary picked up the garland of flowers that a purple-skinned fae had left them. It was adorned with petals of light blue and deep navy, and when she placed it on her head, Clary looked too much like a queen for Isabelle not to gape at her.

“You look amazing!” She tried to say, but was afraid it came out too breathlessly.

Fortunately, Clary was staring down at her garland, and didn’t pay Isabelle too much attention.

Izzy hid her disappointment and turned back to her reflection.

Her gown was the most…colourful. Unique. The corset was made of animal bones and a material that reminded Isabelle of leather. It was muted gold in colour, but the leaves that made up the skirt were the colours of autumn; deep oranges, passionate reds and the occasional flecks of sunny yellow. It reached her thighs, the stitched leaves and cloth moving over her like water. She had touched the leaves, thinking they would be firm and rigid, but although they were strong colours, the leaves sewn into the skirt were surprisingly soft.

She beamed, twirling once more and then turning to her two companions. “Are we ready, my beautiful ladies?”

Lydia sighed, reaching for her simple flower garland of daisies and placing on top of her head. “I’ll go and fetch the boys.” She left the room.

Izzy turned to Clary. “So,” She said, brightly. “How do you feel?”

Clary hesitated. There was a nervous energy to her that Isabelle felt drawn into. She was hesitant, but confident enough to hold her head high and take on whatever everyone was throwing at her. She had just woken from a tower and was now heading to a faerie dance.

Clary Fairchild, Isabelle thought, was rather incredible.

“A little tired. Which, believe me, I know is funny.”

“It’s understandable. I mean, you haven’t slept in such a long time.”

Clary blinked. She looked at her with such intensity that for a moment Isabelle thought she had crossed the line. And then Clary started to laugh. It was such a sweet, genuine laugh, and Izzy blushed at hearing it. At hearing it _again_.

“I thought I’d never hear that laugh. Not in person." Isabelle said, softly. She was standing close enough to touch, Clary, but she kept a careful distance. "And yet here you are, Clary, standing before me. Real.”

The red-haired girl looked at her curiously. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re going to protect me?” Clary gave another little laugh. “And that I have a great destiny I can’t escape?”

Izzy shook her head. “No, and no." She winked at Clary, unable to help herself. "I have a feeling you can look after yourself, Clary Fairchild. Let me know if you need another inspirational speech.”

Clary held up a hand. She blinked. “Wait. That was one?”

Isabelle laughed at the girl's unimpressed expression. “It was pretty bad.” She admitted. 

“Yeah. It was.” Clary said, but she was relaxed now, and laughing, and her smile was warm. It reminded Izzy of all the dreams they had ever shared together. It was so familiar, and still so new.

She held out an arm in offering, and Clary stared at it for a moment, and then looped her arm through hers.

The touch sent tingles down Izzy’s spine.

"Thank you, Isabelle."

Now it was Izzy's turn to frown. "What for?" She asked.

Clary's thumb rubbed a slow circle over Isabelle's palm, and when she looked up at her, her eyes were bright. They were eyes that Isabelle thought she could get lost in, and get discovered in at the same time. 

"For choosing me back."

Izzy beamed at her, quite certain her cheeks were a similar colour to Clary's hair. She had shared her bed with beautiful men and women before, but Clary's touch, and her strong spirit, was new and exciting to Isabelle.

The princess led her out of the door and down into the celebrations. 

 

~

The first sounds Alec heard felt like the instruments had been dipped in enchantments.

The music floated into the fields around the court, tingling magic through the air. The faeries had already begun a dance in a singular, large circle, surrounding the musicians in the centre. It was a lively piece, filled with laughter and happiness.

Alec watched as they held hands, moving quickly and carefree as they spun around.

Some fae were human-like in appearance, with varying shades of skin colour, or wings. Others had animal parts, or their skin was rough like bark. One was tall; another short. Some wore gowns and tunics and overcoats adorned in vibrant colours with bright berries, and others were almost stark naked. A handful of smaller faeries, with curling ram horns, were covered only in dirt and leaves.

He stared down at his own attire again; at the almost see-through shirt, and the simple bottoms. 

The fae-faun, Sana, had approached Alec when he entered. She'd placed a simple twig crown with pale pink flowers on top of his head. It felt lighter than the usual castle crown he’d worn around Idris, and Alec was almost pleased to have something that blended him in with the others.

Sana then plucked out a strange, thin-looking vine, and began to coil it around his arm. He had seen a few other fae wearing the long bracelets, and stared down at the ground, waiting for her to finish.

When it finished wrapping around, brushing his bicep, Alec suddenly gasped. Tiny red and white roses had sprung up, and although the thorns did not dig into his skin, their sudden appearance made him jump backwards.

The faun giggled. “Oh…how delightful.” She said something in another language, as if in afterthought, and then elbowed the fae beside her. She had skin the colour of lilac, and stared at the roses with wide eyes. It was as if she had seen them before. She exchanged a knowing look with the faun and then they waved a hand at Alec and leaped into the circle to join the dance.

“Wait-“

He broke off, his words already drowned out by the music. He stared down at the vines adorning his arm and sighed. What did it matter anyway? It was a simple decoration. As were the clothes he was wearing.

_I can be anyone tonight,_ Alec realised then. There was power in a name, and there was power in not having one. Tonight, he was a wanderer. He could be mortal, fae, or nothing at all. He was not a prince, or a knight.

He was simply Alec.

A weight lifted from his shoulders.

The fear that seemed to always linger in his chest suddenly released itself in a breath.

The song finished, and applause, laughter and the sounds of wind rustling the trees broke into the court. The musicians turned to the Seelie Queen, bowing and curtsying before leaving their place in the centre.

As the next players began to rush in, Alec suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Looking good, big brother.” Isabelle whispered. She kept her voice low, but there was such laughter and warmth in her teasing that he simply smiled back. She looked beautiful, dressed in a leaf gown of rich reds, browns and gold. Her hair was piled onto her head, the flower garland circling the dark waves.

Beside her, Clary hovered, almost looking as uncomfortable as Alec had felt a few moments ago.

He nodded at her, and she smiled a little, her eyes returning to Isabelle.

Alec hid the instant displeasure he felt. What did it matter if Clary and Isabelle shared a bond? It didn’t take away the loyalty that Alec felt for his sister, and he hoped it didn’t affect what they shared.

But Izzy smiled at the girl warmly, and Alec couldn’t stay grumpy for too long.

The next musicians entered the circle, and beside him, Helen appeared, with Aline. Both girls were dressed in long gowns; Helen’s a pale blue, and Aline’s a deeper shade of blue. They stood closely together, and Aline’s expression was fierce as she glared at any fae who glanced too long at Helen.

“We must talk soon.” He said to Helen, who nodded. She swallowed. “I have a lot to tell you. I should have done, a long time ago, but I was…” Helen's eyes flickered to Aline for a moment. “, scared.” She finished.

“You don’t owe me an explanation." Alec said, and he meant it. "Not in Idris, where I made you stay in a castle that feared your kind.” He tried to say those words calmly. His friend was still his friend, and his knight, even if she was a faerie.

There was a story waiting to explain Helen’s reasons, but for now, Alec was simply relieved. Helen was alright. She was alive, and well. Whatever had re-awoken her faerie form did not matter to Alec, as long as his friend was safe. 

“It does explain why the werewolf attacked you.” Aline said, her expression distant. “You’re a downworlder.”

Helen’s face crumpled instantly. She turned to the other girl, her eyes widening and her lip starting to tremble.

“You hate me.” She whispered.

Aline looked shocked. “Never. It’s only-“

But it was too late. Helen had already slipped into the crowd, disappearing quickly. Without another word, Aline turned around and rushed into the group of faeries, chasing after Helen and leaving the others behind.

Isabelle sighed sadly, but there was hope in her voice when she said, “They have always looked after each other. This won’t stop it.”

Sadness soaked itself inside Alec, until Isabelle nudged him. 

“Who are they?” She asked in an excited whisper, pointing to the circle.

The musicians who entered the circle, and were readying to play, had large, dragonfly wings and pastel coloured skin; mint greens, sky blues and pale pink. Some of their instruments were familiar to Alec. They were similar to the instruments of his own court back in Idris.

But also, some were strange. Some were wooden and had too many strings to be that of Jem’s favourite. Some were circular, thin pipes that the faeries whistled into, and the smooth, haunting sound echoed around the fields.

“Summer Court.” Clary told them, her eyes staring off into the distance. “They’re made up of the common fair-folk; pixies, goblins, and all sorts not considered royalty or knights. They are a mixed bunch, but usually stay on the right path.”

Alec blinked. “And how do you know that?”

“I just do.” Clary said, stubbornly.

“She probably heard it." Isabelle defended quickly. She gazed at Alec with wide eyes, pleading with him to let it go. "Her gift, remember?” Isabelle whispered. She looped her arm through Clary’s, and the other girl leaned into her a little.

Their casual intimacy made Alec’s heart swell a little.

How he longed for that. To have someone to reach for, and hold. To know that they would have his back.

“Is that Magnus?” Isabelle suddenly whispered. "By the Angel, he looks beautiful. Well, even more so."

At hearing the warlock’s name, Alec’s head shot up, and fast.

He quickly followed their direction and saw, from the opposite side of the circle, Magnus was walking with the sweet-smiling faun from before. She was grinning at him, and her eyes kept drifting over Magnus’ bare chest without any attempt to hide her gaze. She licked her lips, and even from across the circle, Alec could see how eagerly she listened to whatever he was saying.

She shyly offered her hand to him, and Magnus slid his palm across hers. The fae led him into the circle for the next dance.

Alec looked away quickly, and felt his chest ache all of a sudden.

He blinked, and was surprised to find the stinging in his gut felt a lot like anger. It wasn’t a normal anger. He didn’t feel the need to shout out, or fight. He just felt like he’d been punched.

The vine bracelet tingled slightly.

Alec peered down at his wrist, surprised to see that the roses were now bristling, as if reacting to his emotions.

The dances that followed were fast, the drum beats sending Alec’s heart into a frenzy of blinding emotion. He felt joyous and alive as the beats and footsteps of the dancers echoed out a rhythm into the ground itself. His bare toes wiggled into the grass, as if trying to cling to the music flowing throughout the court.

“Fancy a dance, milady?” Isabelle asked Clary. To Alec’s surprise, the red-haired girl smiled and accepted Izzy’s hand with a brightness in her eyes. As the two girls joined the circle, throwing their heads back and letting the music take over, Alec realised he was standing alone now.

Overhead, the moon shone down in ribbons of dazzling light, and Alec felt the breeze warm his suddenly burning cheeks. He took a shaky breath, trying to reason with his nerves.

He thought about seeking out Magnus again, but the thought of seeing him with the faerie, or someone else, left a sour taste in Alec’s throat.

Another song began.

The drumbeat became wilder, and the musicians began to play in fierce strokes that swept magic around the clearing.

Alec looked around. He saw two tiny faeries dancing in the air, holding each other as they twirled around. They were both girls. He glanced to his left, and saw two fauns standing side by side with their moss-covered hands holding each other’s waists. One of the men laughed, and the other watched him with open adoration.

Alec looked around, lifting his chin a little higher.

Here, he could be free. He could dance without expectation, and laugh without needing to promise himself to a great cause. He could look at anyone he wanted to, and anyone would look boldly at him. He was not a prince anymore.

_What do you have to lose?_

There was no separation; other than those dancing, and those not. There was a freedom in the chaos of the dancers. The circle broke off into smaller circles. Fae twirled and spun, and leaped and moved to the rhythms coming to life around them.

And so, curling his toes into the earth once more for courage, Alec took a deep breath, and danced.

He stepped into the circle. He gave himself to the music completely.

He released all of his worries into the drums; the beat of his heart growing wild and fast as he danced beside strangers.

And when he felt a faerie beside him reach for his hand, and pull him into a smaller circle, Alec smiled and gladly, and happily, went with him.

Soaking up the energy of the dancers, and the moonlight streaming down, Alec let his bare feet sink into the grass and move on their own. His arms spun above his head. He felt another faerie twirl him around. The hands on his waist were steadying, and Alec opened his eyes. He was now gazing at a handsome, dark-skinned faerie with butterfly wings stretched out behind him. They danced together in the small circle, and Alec closed his eyes again.

And then, the circles fanned out. They become rings and layers of circles, and Alec was in one of the centre ones. He wasn’t paying much attention, lost in the indescribable feeling of completeness.

The breeze was whipping into his cheeks, and they cooled his burning skin deliciously. As the song came to an end, Alec smiled. He felt his cheeks ache from it; the fullness of sheer happiness.

Not glancing too long at the dancers surrounding him, the prince turned around. A space was now being made in the middle.

Dancers stepped back carefully as the Seelie Queen herself was led into the centre of the celebration; her white dress a stark snow-coloured contrast to the colours surrounding her. Her velvet cloak was blood red. It matched the headdress that she wore with pride.

She smiled, but it was not a warm smile. It was proud and controlled, but not happy, and for a moment Alec felt pity for her.

He wondered if she had ever been allowed to love. _Truly_ love.

_Will you?_ He asked himself.

The Queen, and Meliorn, who was standing opposite her now, bowed and curtsied to each other, and the dancers understood the cue. Alec did not, but he was quick to realise that another dance was beginning.

A different kind of dance. A dance for two, and two alone.

He closed his eyes, his heart still drumming away, and when he opened them, Magnus Bane was standing before him.

Alec’s breath flew into the air, danced around him, and left his body completely.

He was speechless and rooted to the ground.

Magnus gazed as him, flicking his eyes up and down to look at Alec’s new clothing, his flushed cheeks and messy hair. In return, Alec couldn’t help but stare at Magnus. He gazed with a fierce longing inside his chest. He gazed without consideration for what it might mean to gaze upon someone so intently.

Magnus was, in a single word, enchanting.

And it wasn’t the sculpted muscles - or the warm brown skin that looked beautifully smooth and inviting under the moonlight – that captivated Alec so quickly. It was the light in Magnus’ eyes; the weight that his presence always seemed to bring. It was a comfort, a reminder that the warlock was there. For this night, Alec felt like they would be locked inside this dance; forever spinning and circling each other.

The music began, and a dance began.

Two men, one mortal, and one immortal, danced as if it was their only night remaining in this strange world. The rhythm, this time, was softer. It was gentle in a way that felt tender to Alec.

And when Magnus circled him slowly, Alec felt his blood grow hot. His fingers were shaking, his lip quivering with an insatiable _ache_.

The anticipation, the _desire_ , was almost too much for the prince to bear.

When the other dancers moved closer to each other, Alec also took that first step.

They were still not touching, but Alec stepped forwards, and Magnus stepped to the side, so that they were side by side with shoulders brushing ever so slightly. And then Magnus spun in a slow circle. He paused directly in front of Alec again. Only this time, they were almost nose to nose.

Magnus’ chest heaved, and Alec could see beads of sweat trickling down his muscles and lingering on his hip bones.

Alec’s wrist suddenly throbbed, and he felt the vines around his wrist tickle his skin. They were moving again, just slightly, only this time, it was like they were settling into place; finding their true place.

Not once did Alec feel out of place. He never felt that he had to look around to copy the other dancers. Whether it was magic, or instinct, they both knew the same steps to take, and the same direction to spin in.

And when Magnus stepped around him once again, Alec shivered in pleasure. He felt the warlock’s chest press into his back, bare skin against thin cloth. From behind, Magnus slid an arm around Alec’s waist, pulling him slightly closer.

Without hesitation, Alec’s left arm lifted. He lifted it into the air, resting it against his ear. He waited. A moment later, Magnus’ lifted his own. Soft, feather-like fingers danced expertly down Alec's lifted arm. Magnus' palm made a path down the prince's skin. He brushed the raised arm from the sensitive spot of his wrist, all the way down until he brushed his ribs. 

Alec bit his lip, suppressing a groan as Magnus’ fingers tickled the tiny hairs on the sensitive skin between his forearm and the start of his rib cage. His cheeks were burning. His legs were trembling. Magnus’ nails scraped slightly and Alec was sure that blood was now welling at his lip. He was biting hard enough to draw blood. Anything to hide the urgent need to press their bodies closely together.

If the dance lasted any longer, Alec was certain his body would be set aflame completely.

Before he had a moment to catch his breath, Alec felt himself turning again, and seconds later, he was face to face with Magnus again, who was watching him with those golden eyes that Alec had come to see a dangerous truth within. Every time he looked at Magnus, and saw the true beauty of his form, Alec knew, without hesitation, that if he had the chance, Magnus Bane would be someone he would choose to have by his side. Always. 

_You will never have that chance._

Alec closed his eyes against the second truth.

He pushed it away furiously, and when he opened his eyes again, Magnus was closer, slowly holding out a hand. His movements were as elegant as always. Alec took it, and they raised their palms slowly, neither one looking away first.

Magnus’ fingers slipped between his, and they linked together.

Alec felt a jolt rush through his hand, spreading down his forearm and making a steady, rapid path down to his heart. He felt the strength in their hands. He felt the rightness of it. When they lowered their hands, Alec was reluctant to let go.

What if there would be no chance to ever touch Magnus again?

What if he had to go back to pretending that he had not touched him so intimately?

The music grew quieter, and softer, and the dancers stepped lightly now; gentle steps and small smiles exchanging between partners. Alec held onto Magnus’ hand for as long as he could.

When they were forced to step to the next dancer, Alec blinked back the tears, his fingers slipping from the warlock’s grasp. It was desperate to hold on, Alec knew, but he savoured even the scraping of Magnus’ fingernail as they separated once more.

The dance ended soon, and Alec could not remember who he had shared the rest of it with. He was still imagining golden eyes. He was still picturing a grin that cut into his soul with hope. He was remembering how it felt to be held by someone, and how it felt to be wanted, _needed_ even.

The overwhelming strength of wanting something, of wanting _someone_ , bore into Alec like the moonlight itself.

It was sweet and calming, but dangerous and powerful at the same time.

The circles stopped, and the dancers grew still.

Everyone applauded quietly to the musicians and the Queen, who was being led back up onto the platform far away.

“Alexander.” A quiet voice said behind him.

Alec turned, and Magnus was standing before him again. The prince gulped. He tried not to stare so blatantly this time, but somewhere between looking at the red flowers weaved into Magnus’ hair and the scarlet, sleeveless overcoat he was wearing, Alec felt it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

“H-hi.” He managed to say. It felt like he hadn’t used his voice in years, and the vines around his arm were tingling with strange urgency. It wanted him to move, Alec could feel it.

So when Magnus asked if he wanted to see something magical, the playful gleam in his eyes was too enticing to ignore.

Alec let himself be weaved through the dancers and out of the circles.

They headed deeper into the forest.

~

Magnus’ entire body felt scrubbed raw.

It was as if someone had taken his skin and doused it in fire, only to cool him down at the last moment. He was left wide-eyed, but unhurt. Magic hummed within him, urgent and _so alive._

Somewhere between dancing with Alec, and dancing without Alec, Magnus had realised that it was foolish to keep thinking like this. To keeping hoping that a simple touch would become more. Become deeper.

Leading the prince away from the dancers had seemed like a reasonable thought.

He was thinking that Alec was attracting a few too many eyes, and that he didn’t want the prince dealing with a faerie wanting to seduce him. Selfishly, Magnus wanted to be alone with Alec. He wanted to take him far away from the crowds and to breathe again.

When they reached a fallen log, Magnus gestured for Alec to take a seat.

He sat down also, leaving a careful amount of space between them.

“What are we waiting for?” Alec asked in a whisper. His hazel eyes were bright under the moonlight, and there was a flush to his cheeks that Magnus adored. He had never seen the prince so spirited, and alive with energy.

Magnus allowed his smile to turn smug. “Something worthwhile.”

The prince rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t waver a bit. He picked at a little of the bark, waiting obediently.

Silence had seemed like a good choice. Until it wasn’t. And with Alec staring down, it led Magnus to gaze at the prince without reservation. His eyes traced his sharp jawline, to the soft strands of hair sticking up a little. He was still wearing his flower garland, and Magnus smiled at it. 

He suddenly blinked in surprise.

Purple peonies were hidden in Alec's crown.

Exactly like the ones Alec had seen on the illusion of Magnus' tower.

What had he thought they symbolised?

_Transitions and journeys. Bashfulness, and compassion._

He stared at the flowers for a few moments. Magnus felt the wonder of magic, and the land, fill him with joy. Perhaps, somehow, they were always meant to have this moment. They were always supposed to be sitting here, together. 

After a short while, Magnus heard what he had been waiting for.

The tell-tale sound of what sounded like bells ringing sounded in the air. It was gentle and just about audible, but as soon as they echoed in the forest, Magnus and Alec gazed up. They saw dozens upon dozens of tiny lights decorating the once-empty space around them.

Small, golden lights stood out against the black night.

The forest was suddenly lit up by the firefly faeries.

Alec gasped as they floated overhead, and Magnus turned his head to watch the prince; to gaze at his awed expression. Magnus smiled at the wonder-struck eagerness of his youth.

Alec stood, almost absent-mindedly. He stepped a little into the clearing. His arms lifted, and Magnus watched. The prince stood, surrounded by tiny faeries dancing around him, and Magnus smiled. It was a beautiful sight, and it tore the breath right out of his chest.

Alec met his eyes. “Are they…dancing?”

Magnus nodded, forcing himself to stand and make his way over to Alec. “They are firefly fair-folk. They only come out at very rare occasions, so I hoped we might see them tonight. How lucky we are.” He smiled. “They sometimes grant wishes you know, Alec. You only get one, however.”

Alec grinned. “A little peace and quiet?” His eyes suddenly widened. “No. No that.” He said quickly. “Wait, did that count?”

“I don’t think it works like that.” Magnus reassured him. He took a risk and placed a finger on Alec’s chest, tapping it lightly. “You have to wish from _here_ , Alexander.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Alec said again, softer. He stared at Magnus’ finger for a moment and then swallowed, the movement drawing the warlock’s attention to where his collar bone peaked out of his top.

Suddenly, one of the creatures drifted lower. They could almost make out the tiny, sweet face of the faerie.

Magnus held out his hands, palms spreading out to catch the glowing fae. It landed with feather-light touch, and Magnus felt warmth radiate into his chest.

“That’s very good luck, you know.” He told the prince, whispering to keep the creature comforted. “If one trusts you enough, it rests in your hands. Good luck indeed. You can either let it go,” Magnus began. He gently placed it into Alec’s hands. “, or pass it to someone else.”

Alec blinked, and then he gazed down at the creature, his eyebrows furrowing. He was deep in thought for a few moments. “Is it…sleeping?”

“Yes. It likes you.” Magnus grinned.

Alec beamed. “It does?”

He looked so innocent in that moment, so in love with the world around him. Magnus thought the prince deserved that.

Just when he thought the prince could not surprise him anymore, Alec gently lifted his palms and sent the creature floating back into the sky. He let it go, watching it with a small smile.

“Why did you do that?” Magnus asked him quietly.

Alec looked straight across at Magnus. “It should be free.”

_As should we all._

Alec raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck, and when he did, Magnus had to bite his lip to hide his gasp.

Red and white roses.

He stared down at the matching ones adoring his own wrist.

Together, the red and white rose signified unity. They symbolised order and peace; two halves making a perfect whole.

Or, they forewarned chaos.

And it was never an easy distinction between the two paths. Chaos and beauty overlapped so easily these days.

With the ache growing even fiercer, Magnus sat back down on the log and watched Alec.

With the rest of the night settling around them, Magnus watched as the prince smiled at the wonders around him. 

Would Alexander be his undoing, or his rebirth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Let me know which parts/scenes/lines you liked :)  
> I love hearing from you, and it means so much. If you have the time to leave a comment, please do :)  
> DANCING, YOU GUYS. IT'S MY WEAKNESS.  
> (as well as hand kinks).


	10. As The World Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seelie Queen sets our heroes a challenging task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, your comments mean the world to me :)  
> The chapter title is taken from the David Bowie song, 'as the world falls down' and is very fitting for the chapter, if you wanted to check it out ;)  
> Also, the fic playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc

 

The summons arrived early the morning after the dance.

Alec groaned as the knock interrupted his peaceful sleep. In the next bed over, Jace muttered something rudely imaginative about where the summoner could shove their knocking.

Biting back a grin, Alec quickly shrugged on his tunic and pants and opened the door. He took the scroll from a sour-looked faerie with skin like bark and headed back inside, unrolling it to reveal the message inside.

“We have a meeting with the Seelie Queen.”

Alec saw Jace rolling back onto his chest and quickly added, “Soon.”

Jace grumbled, but thankfully sat up again. He threw across the sheets and began to dress, mumbling about faeries and their disrespect to morning lay-ins.

“Did you enjoy last night?” Alec asked, keeping his back turned to Jace and belting up his sword around his waist. He hoped that the question was casual.

“I guess.” Came Jace’s reply. “It was all a little overbearing, if you ask me. No one captured my eye either, if that’s what you were suggesting.”

Alec wasn’t, but he was glad for the change in direction. “Oh. Right. No, uh, dancing then? You didn’t dance with anyone?”

_Like I did,_ Alec wanted to add. He kept his lips pressed together, afraid the words would slip out.

“No. They were all dark-haired and not at all my type. I like women who frighten me. Someone who can challenge the stupid things I say, and fight beside me and…”

Jace broke off suddenly. He cleared his throat, and the hesitation was gone; replaced by a grin. “Besides, didn’t you see how they danced with each other? Bit…intimate, wouldn’t you say?” He wigged an eyebrow at Alec.

The prince flushed. “No. Not intimate at all. Why would you think that? It’s j-just…different. That’s all. A different custom. You can dance with someone and it doesn’t have to mean anything.” He trailed off. “Right?”

“Are you feeling well?” Jace suddenly asked.

He stood before Alec and placed a palm against his forehead, his eyes widening. “Did you accept any food or drink last night?” Jace asked urgently. 

Alec shook his head, gently pushing aside Jace’s hand. “No. I’m fine, Jace. I promise. It’s only…do you really think the dance was special?”

Jace weighed his next words carefully. Alec could see it in his expression. It was calculated, but not unkindly so. His friend was thinking, and Alec appreciated the effort.

After another moment, Jace quietly asked, “Who did you dance with, Alec?” 

“Magnus.”

“Ah.”

“Mm.” Alec muttered in agreement.

“Well then, it can mean whatever you want it to, Alec." Jace said. He sat down on the edge of the bed. He tapped the space beside him, and Alec sat.

He sat and listened as Jace spoke. "It can mean you shared a dance with a friend, and it can simply mean you had a good night and wanted to dance with someone." Jace paused. "But…if it meant more, to you, then…think on it."

His friend laughed, and he looked fondly across at Alec. "Actually, if it’s one thing you’ll do, it’s overthink it."

Alec didn't disagree. 

The amusement left Jace's eyes then, replaced by worry. "Alec, don’t." He implored. "Talk to me, or someone else, but by the Angel, promise me you won’t deal with this alone.”

He waited a moment, and then Jace continued. He spoke slowly, again, thinking it through. “I know your heart is…different." Jace said, but there was no accusation in his tone. He was just stating the facts. "I know why none of the ladies in Idris interest you, and I have never cared."

Jace smiled widely. "Alec, you are my best friend. My brother. I love you, wholly and completely.”

Alec blinked back tears.

For so many years, he had hid away. Buried himself head first in the royal duties like he was supposed to.

And now, Jace was telling him that it was okay to question it. It was okay for Alec to start prying apart the secrets he had locked away; to start coaxing them out with gentle words, and not fearing that they would be torn from him and shared with the world. He could let this part of himself be free.

Alec straightened his shoulders and clasped Jace’s hand in his own. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want anyone else here with me, Jace.” He smiled. “Now let’s go and face the Queen again. And try and stop a war.”

~

There was good news.

There was also bad news.

Magnus also realised that Alec was standing beside him, and that their shoulders were brushing slightly. He counted this particular information as both good _and_ bad news.

After last night – which seemed like a lifetime ago – Magnus was growing more and more agitated. Unnerved. He felt like he was constantly swaying, edging around the prince and not wanting to make any abrupt movements.

Magnus didn’t like this. He wanted Alec back. He wanted the feeling of ease that he had grown to welcome from being around the prince. He didn’t want this new, complicated way of thinking.

“I have come to a decision.”

Until that moment, Magnus had never been pleased to see the Seelie Queen. Or to hear her cryptic replies. But the interruption to his thoughts was a welcomed distraction.

Magnus swept into a low bow, his royal blue robes matching the new tips in his hair. He had coloured them this morning, in the mood for a change. His eyes were dusted with a matching powder, and he’d added a little charcoal around his lower lids.

The whole effect, when he looked in the mirror, made him look dangerous. Cold, even. Again, Magnus thought about the dance. Palms touching. Breathes drawn. Only bare chests and thin material separating them.

A chill sent shivers down his spine. Magnus turned away from the mirror, tightened the belt around his robes and headed towards the Court. He didn’t stop for any faerie, prince or commoner.

And now, Magnus stood with Alec and the knights – except for Clary, who was standing with Helen and Aline within the crowd of faeries watching the Court. They still had not decided what to do about their strange dreamer, and Magnus was still reluctant to announce that they had Valentine’s daughter - confused and fiery-tempered - in the Seelie Queen’s court.

“I have decided to offer you the following. Scouts, to search out your _island_ ,” Her lips curled at the word. The expression she wore was vacant, but the long nails digging into the chair were anticipating tension. She continued. “They will also plot out the best course through the Shadowlands.”

Magnus waited.

“Also, should any…conflict arise, in the near future, we will be your allies. We will offer you knights, and powerful warriors to fight in your name.”

A small sigh escaped Alec’s lips, and the relief on his face was too hopeful.

Magnus winced, knowing it wasn’t over yet.

The prince was oblivious to the tension. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate-“

The Seelie Queen raised a hand to silence him. “I was not finished.” She said icily. She dragged a nail across the long, silver bracelet she wore. The sound was like someone screaming, painful and high-pitched. “I have a favour to ask of you. In return for my gifts.”

Isabelle folded her arms across her chest. She was back in her deep brown leather riding gear, and the toughness of the material matched the hard look in her eyes. “What do you require?” She demanded.

The Queen’s laugh was musical, but whereas Isabelle’s was warm and joyful, the faerie’s was mirthless and hostile. Her eyes narrowed. “I require a little respect, firstly.” She warned. “And this is a simple task. One that even a group of mortals and their pet warlock can handle.”

“I’m no one’s property.” Magnus snapped.

Beside him, Isabelle lifted her chin. “He’s our friend. Not our pet. Unlike some, we don’t look down on others for their gifts.”

There was a sudden weight beside Magnus, and when he looked down, he realised that Alec’s hand was cast protectively in-front of Magnus, as if shielding the warlock from the Queen’s words.

Quickly, the prince lowered it, but he met Magnus’ wide eyes for a moment and held his gaze.

Magnus looked away first.

The Queen was looking bored again, toying with her bracelet. “Very well. Sort out our little…problem, and you may call yourself anything you like.”

“Why us?” Alec asked then. “You have knights of your own.”

It took studying the Queen for one moment for it to make sense to Magnus. He was used to seeing cruelty, and he saw it in her thin smile, and cold eyes.

Magnus lifted his chin in defiance. “Because we’re expendable.” He explained, with a coolness that matched the Queen’s voice. “Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?”

The Seelie Queen simply smiled her cold smile. She pursed her lips, which were stained with a bruised purple berry juice, and the sight reminded Magnus of the first drop of rain before a thunderstorm. It was powerful and dangerous, and not to be toyed with.

She ignored the bait and simply continued. “There has been sightings nearby, on the outskirts of the Faerielands, of a creature. A beast that has started to roam closer to Court.” She explained. “We believe it has started killing our kind.”

The Queen rose from her throne, and her skirts swept across the stairs as she took one at a time, slowly. She surveyed the knights before her. “Kill it, and you shall have your army.” She finished. “And your scouts.”

Jace was the first to speak. “Is it a dragon?” He asked, and even Magnus was amused by the hope in his question.

The Seelie Queen’s eyes narrowed. Amusement was definitely not rushing into her expression, but contempt was. “No.” She said. “A griffin.”

Around the Court, the faeries gasped. Some made strange little hand movements, and Magnus soon realised that they were prayers; good wishes. Or perhaps bad ones, judging by the wicked grins on a few fae.

Fear swirled into the anger that was flicking across Magnus’ skin. He could feel his jaw clenching. “A simple task then.” He snarled.

Alec rested a hand on his forearm. It was a simple touch, but it immediately cooled the anger bubbling in the warlock’s blood.

“It’s okay.” The prince said, quietly.

Isabelle leaned in a little. “We have to do this, right? Besides, we need the scouts, and we need to find out the quickest way to find the Cup, or whatever it is the demons are after. And find whoever is opening the portals.” She came to a decision and lifted her chin. “We’re saying yes.”

There’s wasn’t a question in Isabelle’s voice, and no one gave an opposing answer. They were all quiet for a few moments, and then Alec turned back to the Seelie Queen and inclined his head towards her.

“We leave now.” He announced. His voice rang out, loud and clear, and the shiver that ran down Magnus’ spine was no longer because of fear, but because of pride. And, admittedly, desire. Alec’s voice was low and powerful, and Magnus licked his lips, his eyes closing lazily.

Lovers in the past had complimented Magnus’ own voice, but Alec’s was something else entirely. The warlock listened to the low murmur of it, letting it slip into the corners between desire and some sort of holy praise.

And then the moment was broken.

The Court buzzed, disbanding quietly and crossing the hall to leave. Other stayed, hanging back and gathering in small groups, just like it was any other day. And, Magnus supposed, it was. To them, at least. Although there were mortals in the land, undertaking a task for their Queen.

_Not so usual after all._

The lilac-skinned faerie from the night before approached them. Luciana, Magnus remembered. But she no longer looked mischievous, or cocked her head and grinned like an imp. There was no trace of amusement on her pretty face. “May I offer my services?” She asked in an urgent whisper. “Please. I ask for nothing in return. I just…this is important to me. I want to protect the ones I love.”

“We don’t need your help.” Jace muttered.

Lydia elbowed him in the side, sharply. “So you’re well aware of a griffin’s weakness then?” She demanded. “You can tell us how to quickly kill it?”

When Jace gaped a little, Lydia rolled her eyes. “Men.” She muttered. “Why must you be so stubborn?  Admit you need help.”

“I’m not stubborn.” Jace said. Stubbornly.

Magnus was fighting back a grin, and when he turned to Alec, the prince was looking just as amused.

Saving Jace from his own pride, Magnus decided to take pity on him.

He nodded to Luciana. “That would be lovely, darling. Thank you.”

She didn’t smile. She barely nodded in reply, and once again, Magnus frowned.

Where was the cheeky faerie from the night before? Where was the playfulness, and the energy?

Something was going on.

~

They were led to their stables, where their horses were already prepared for a short journey’s ride.

“How did she know we would say yes?” Jace asked, incredulous. His eyes then narrowed. “You know what, never mind. If I try to understand that woman, I might go insane.”

Lydia swung up onto her horse and clicked her tongue against teeth. She narrowed her eyes at Jace as he mounted the horses beside hers. “Women are not difficult to understand.” She told him. “Perhaps you don’t understand listening.”

She nudged her horse, and it began to ride off, and down the path.

Brow furrowing, Jace looked across at Alec as they began to prepare their own horses. “What did I say wrong?”

The prince shrugged. “Perhaps your natural charm was too overwhelming.”

Magnus sniggered. It was a high-pitched sound, childlike and innocent, and when Alec turned his head to stare at him, his grin was wide. He found himself smiling back too. The pleasure at making Magnus laugh was too strong, and the prince told himself that his strange feelings for the warlock needed to disappear.

Luciana’s horse was slighter, and dainty; a brilliant white stallion with a narrow snout and large eyes. It snorted, riding loftily towards them. The faerie atop the creature did not smile, but she nodded to the group. “The griffin lives in one of the caves at the border of the Court. It’s not far, but the land around it is filled with pixies. Don’t stray from the path.”

Peace hung in the air. And then it snapped.

Jace’s eyes suddenly widened. His head shot around to stare ahead. “Lydia.” He gasped, and suddenly he was crying out, urging his horse onwards to chase the other knight.

Alec quickly caught on. If Lydia had already rode ahead, she had no warning against the faerie’s trickeries. What if she was lured into a trap?

Not waiting for Isabelle or Clary, Alec sent a silent apology in their direction before digging his heels into the horse. He and Luciana rode quickly to catch up with Jace, but by the time they had made it down the long path, they were already deep in the forest.

In the distance, they could see two figures. A girl with braided blonde hair was standing a little off the path, holding up a hand to the bright glowing shape above the sky. It flickered closer towards her, and Alec resisted the urge to cry out. Logic told him that Lydia wouldn’t be able to hear him, but still, he wanted to.

Fortunately, Jace’s slightly quicker thinking meant that he was already catching up. Alec watched as his friend leapt from his horse and quite ungracefully tackled Lydia to the ground. He pushed her away from the light. Jace’s body shielded Lydia from the glow, and after a moment, the faerie soon dashed off back into the trees.

Alec came to a halt on the path, trying to push some air back into his lungs. Magnus was riding up beside him, and Luciana. Hooves sounding behind them meant that Clary and Isabelle were also catching up, and their group could move on from the little scare.

Jace quickly sat up, pulling Lydia away from the ground. They clasped hands, and although they were both trembling, as soon as their hands touched, their bodies steadied. They balanced each other perfectly.

Lydia was still kneeling, a loose strand of hair falling into her eyes.

Almost sub-consciously, Jace pushed it back and tucked it behind her ear. “Your turn to be the damsel for a change.” He said quietly. If it was supposed to be a joke, it lost its humour when Jace’s lower lip trembled. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Branwell.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled. She tried to stand, but stumbled. Jace was right there to hold her up, and he led her to the horse and quietly helped her back onto the gently snorting creature.

Jace still didn’t let go of her hand. “You sure you’re alright? It didn’t hurt you?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. I just…got distracted.”

“It happens.” Jace said kindly. “I’m surprised you don’t get distracted by other beautiful things.” He winked, and when Lydia stared down at him blankly, Jace pouted. “Me. I’m…talking about myself.”

“When are you not?” Magnus snorted.

Alec wanted to laugh as well, but his poor friend was looking so forlorn, and Lydia was flushing now. He cleared his throat. “Come on then. Let’s head on.”

And as they began to ride away from the Court – led by the still-quiet Luciana – Alec held back. His horse kept snorting and trying to edge closer to Magnus’, and after the third time, the warlock laughed. “Attached there, are we, girl?”

“She likes you. Uh, the horse.” Alec added quickly. “Likes your horse.” He pointed to Magnus’, ignoring the urge to pray for the ground to swallow him up whole. “They’re…close.” The prince finished in a mumble.

He was surprised when Magnus simply smiled. It was a kind smile, a gracious one. It was one that Magnus wore often, and once again, it almost shamed Alec, who realised how warlocks were so often dismissed as reckless or impulsive.

“What’s her name?”

“Sagitta.”

“As in, ‘arrow’?” Magnus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Not a very imaginative name.”

“I like it. It’s very fitting for a prince with an… _impressive_ bow.” The warlock smirked, wiggling an eyebrow. “Perhaps you can teach me. One day.”

There was something in the way that Magnus drew those syllables out. It sent shivers down Alec’s back.

He hid it with a snort. “You expect me to believe that you can’t fire an arrow? I bet you’ve been taught before.”

“Never.” Magnus said.

Alec stared at him for a moment. The warlock glanced away. His lips were still quirked in a small smile, but there was a tension in his eyes now.

“Liar.” The prince said, softly.

Magnus’ head whipped around. He opened his mouth – no doubt to bite back a retort – but then the warlock’s expression softened. His eyes grew distant. “Why would I lie about that?”

Alec swallowed. He shrugged, trying to throw off some of the tension. “I don’t know.” He mused. “But I don’t believe you. You can shoot. But why would you want me to teach you? Even if you fooled me, it would just mean…”

Alec broke off. A realisation hit him.

“It would mean what, Alexander?”

_It would mean that you just wanted to spend time with me._

_It meant that you lied to make the excuse._

_It would mean…something._

“Nothing.” Alec lied. “Just that you’re a bad liar.” He tried to tease, but Magnus was studying him again, quietly, and Alec almost wished he was back to stammering and flushed cheeks. Anything to avoid the growing tension between them.

For now, he could hide behind the ignorance; pretend that he had no clue as to what Magnus was intending.

How hard could it be? Until now, Alec had barely given himself time to consider other options. He focused on the road ahead; the logic of the head, and the drive to please his family. Now, with magic and danger unfolding around them in the Shadowlands, the simple quest had opened up an entirely new quest.

The quest for Alec’s heart. And who it might be wanting to belong to.

~

Helen Blackthorn had only passed her eighth summer when she was abandoned by the only family she’d ever known.

The night was cold, and the bag slung over her shoulder weighed her slim body down terribly.

It was also the night she met Aline Penhallow.

Stumbling into another village miles from her home, Helen knocked on every door she could. Her small hands trembled as she begged for shelter. Where was she supposed to go? Her mother had made it shockingly clear that returning would result in death for the young girl.

Because there was no place for a faerie changeling in a mortal village.

Which, that night, Helen learned, was what she truly was. She had replaced some poor, innocent child and was left in the oblivious care of Vivien Blackthorn, whose husband had mysteriously vanished years before.

Raising the child without realising, Vivien overlooked the child’s strangely pointed ears, and quiet solitude with nature. Helen was raised in a village beside a lake, and spent most of her time sitting beside it and wishing she could join in with the other children’s games. While they ran about and giggled, the faerie child never found an invitation extended to her. She turned to sitting beside the lake, or wondering why she felt different from the others.

And then, one evening, her mother was boiling a broth, and as she stepped onto the highest step of the wooden ladder, she cried out and toppled backwards. Without thinking, Helen rushed forwards and caught her.

It was only when her mother started to scream that Helen remembered she had been standing at the opposite end of the kitchen. She had moved with unnatural swiftness, impossible speed. And she had no issue with balancing her mother’s weight, when she herself was simply a young girl.

That evening, amidst her mother’s screams and curses that she had raised a devil as a daughter, Helen came to a conclusion.

She was not human. She was something else.

Driven by fear, her mother packed a bag of food and water to last for days and sent Helen out into the night. She begged the creature – for she did not call Helen ‘daughter’ any longer – to seek out shelter elsewhere. To find out what she was.

The door beneath her pounding fist suddenly swung open.

A man greeted her with a scowl. His small, black bird-like eyes were narrowed. “Can I help you, child?” He asked.

He stared at her ears then. “Are you lost, fae?”

Helen blinked. “What did you say?” She whispered.

The warlock looked surprised. “Fae.” He repeated, gently this time. His expression softened, and he stepped back and held out the door. “I think you should perhaps come inside, child. Do you have a name?”

“Helen.” She replied.

“Come in, Helen.”

That night, she was led into a library filled with books that were bound in leather as well as secrets.

The truth spilled into the evening, and into the early hours of the morning. The warlock revealed what she was, and where she came from, and Helen held back the choking sobs and listened. Paying attention was a strength of hers, and she used it now to push away the fear. She buried herself in the truth, surrounding it around her like a blanket.

But she would never let anyone else share it. She would keep this to herself, until her dying day.

For who could ever love a changeling child?

Who could love a fae who was tossed aside at birth? Exchanged and taken from her home before she’d even learned the word.

Helen grew up that night. She silenced her tears, and silenced her heart.

The warlock spoke gently, but his words were sharpened with a warning.

“There is tension between mortals and downworlders. Always has been.” He told her. “You would do well to remember this, and keep your identity to yourself.”

Helen raised a shaking hand. “But what a-about these?” She asked, gesturing to the strangely pointed ears, and the strange shimmer to her skin that sometimes caught the light.

The warlock smiled sadly. He raised a hand and scooped the air, his fingers lethal and sharp as they hovered close to her face.

Tingles ticked her skin and Helen gasped. She stumbled back from the chair and swung herself around to face the small mirror.

“I’m…normal again.” She whispered. It was true. Whatever the warlock had done, whatever spell he had cast, she looked like herself once again. No glowing skin, or sharp ears – although they were still a little pointed. She looked human. Tears of joy threatened to spill down her cheeks.

The relief was broken shortly after.

“Sweet Helen, it is only a glamour. A way to hide you from those who may want to harm you. I cannot change what you are. No one can.”

The tears began to burn. They were hot and painful and streamed down her cheeks. Helen held her face in her hands and cried, but after a few moments, gentle hands pulled them away.

The warlock shook his head. “Don’t.” He said, softly. “You are meant to be this. You always have. One day, you will accept it. You will see yourself as brave and beautiful and irreplaceable.”

“Will the glamour fade?” Helen asked.

The warlock nodded. “Yes, but not for a long while. Perhaps it will last a lifetime, but…something may cause it to fade. Something strong, like severe amounts of pain, or…love.”

Helen blinked. _Love_. How often had she dreamed of love? And now that she was fae, in a human land, would she ever be accepted for this part of her? Would love mean sacrificing the truth?

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Helen whispered.

Thanking the warlock for his help, she stumbled out of the library, still unsure about where she was headed.

There was a large forest around the village, and as though it called to her, Helen’s feet took her into it. Shivering against the cold, the girl walked and walked until she was surrounded by trees and bird calls and completely alone.

And then a twig snapped. Loudly.

“Oi, watch it!” A voice hissed from behind her.

Helen spun around and gasped. There was a girl kneeling behind a large bramble bush, and she was stabbing a finger in Helen’s direction. Her eyes were narrowed. “You’re frightening the hares.” The stranger whispered.

Before Helen had another moment to work out her meaning, the girl leaped out, flung herself to the ground and wrestled with a blur of gray fur. The struggle was over shortly when a loud snap echoed around the trees. The girl sighed happily, dropping the now-limp rabbit by her feet and crossing her legs on the forest floor, which was carpeted by twigs, leaves and the odd stone.

“So, do you speak?” The girl asked. She was grinning now, clearly pleased with her kill and not bothered by Helen’s presence.

“Y-yes.” Helen said. She hesitated, not sure what else to say.

Fortunately for her, the other girl relaxed. She clambered to her feet. At her full height, she still barely reached Helen’s shoulder, but her dark hair was long and held back by a thick band of cloth. A few stands escaped the tie, and it wisped around her pretty face. She was light on her feet, Helen had seen this already, but the girl had a quick smile as well; sharp and ready for adventure.

The girl held up the hare. “You hungry?”

Helen found herself nodding. When was the last time she had eaten? A few days ago perhaps. She had snatched a piece of stale bread from a passing villager, but that was all. Her stomach growled at the sight, and the other girl laughed.

She stuck out a small hand. “I’m Aline. Aline Penhallow. I live here.”

“You live in the forest?”

“Don’t be daft. I live in the clouds.”

Helen took a step back. The last thing she needed to deal with was a girl who spoke in riddles.

And then Aline’s lips twitched. “It was a joke.” She said, laughter in her voice. She looked at Helen for a few moments and then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Helen.”

“Helen…?”

“Helen.” She repeated firmly. "Just Helen."

Alien raised an eyebrow. “Fine. _Helen_ , give me a hand, would you? This hare isn’t going to skin itself.”

And they were side by side. Just like that. 

Simple and easy to hide in, Helen shared the duties in Aline's village as they grew up together. She allowed herself this; a home. She pretended that it would always be like this. A simple life without magic or secrets. 

She was wrong.

_Present_

“I understand. I promise, I do. And I’m not mad at you either! Why won’t you believe me?”

Aline’s pleas slid underneath Helen's skin. They tried to warm the faerie's blood, but all she could feel was dread, and anticipation. She was waiting for the other women to walk away. She was waiting to say goodbye.

She had been her whole life. This moment was what she had been dreading for so many years. The truth was out, and Helen could feel heart trembling, preparing to break and shatter. 

But here Aline was, demanding that she listened, and Helen was fighting back the tears, but also the smile that wanted to form.

Helen sighed. “I am royalty. My mother is a _princess_ , the Seelie Queen’s cousin. Why does this not surprise you? Or make you want to run away from me?” She threw up her hands. “Why are you still here with me?”

She turned away. The gardens had calmed her down as she strolled through them. Until Aline had found her. After the dance last night, Helen had been desperately avoiding the other girl. Not wanting to see the fear in her eyes. Ever since she had discovered her heritage, Helen knew she could no longer hide the truth. She accepted it, but that did not mean that Aline would.

And Helen would not beg. Never again.

And perhaps she was being stubborn, but Helen could not believe that Aline would be so welcoming of a friend who had lied to her for so long.

Her glamour gone completely, Helen knew that this was her true place; in the Court, beside her family and with her own kind.

_You belong with her._

Helen tucked that thought away, quickly. It was a worrying idea, and one that frightened her more than any glamour could.

All the years she had spent living with Aline, and training with Alec and his knights, was threatening to undo her. She was torn; half in a land of magic, and half in a land where she had tricked everyone – including herself – into believing she was normal. Ordinary.

Aline shook her head, wild hair falling around her face. “You cannot frighten me away. I know you. I know your heart." Aline said. She grabbed Helen by the elbow and forced her to stop walking. "Whether you are a faerie, a human, or a demon itself, it would not stop me from…from…” 

Helen spun around, her dress whirling around. She threw up her hands. “From what?” Helen demanded. “From hating me? From fearing me?”

“From _loving_ you!” Aline cried out. Her chest heaved.

The garden grew still. So still that Helen wondered if she had somehow frozen it. It would make sense. She did not understand the magic she possessed. The magic that was only now unfurling in her true home. 

After a long moment, Helen found her voice again. “You don’t love me." She said quietly, and sadly. She turned around again, resting her hands on the marble balcony that overlooked the gardens. "You don’t know me. I’m something else.”

“No, you are Helen." Aline said. She laughed, and the sound was a desperate one. "Just Helen, remember?"

The reminder of their childhood threatened to break Helen's heart. Of how they had met, so long ago. 

She turned to her friend, unsure, but needing to see her. Aline's eyes were wide, but they were brimming with tears and passion. She watched quietly, waiting for the moment to end, and for her heart to become trapped forever in losing her best friend. 

To her surprise, Aline continued. "I know you." She repeated fiercely. "You are abrupt and unsure, but also amazing with snares. You are my best friend in the entire world, mortal or otherwise."

" _Please_." Helen whispered. She wasn't sure what the word meant. Perhaps it meant stop. Perhaps it meant carry on.

Aline shook her head. She reached out and gently touched her palm against Helen's cheek, her fingers warm and pleasant. "You are…everything to me." Aline whispered. "You are the only home I ever want.”

The coolness of the marble, and the warmth of Aline's hand, reminded Helen of something long-lost. The gardens were quiet and colourful below them, and Helen finally, after what felt like a lifetime, let go. She let go of the secrets in her heart. She let go of the vows she had made; the promise to herself that only she, and she alone could bear this burden. 

“You…love me?”

Helen felt the word leave her tongue. It coated the air around her with laughter and sunshine. Hope lit her up from the inside, and she felt the lost girl from her past shifting before her eyes. She became what she had always been.

And when her friend smiled, and nodded, Aline became her freedom. She became the only truth that Helen would ever care about.

How wonderful it was, Helen thought, to love. It was frightening and maddening and tore down any wall you tried to keep up. It was precious and fragile, but as Helen took a step closer, and held out her arms, she felt stronger than ever before.

Aline stood before her, cupped her face, and ever so gently, kissed her lips.

It was Helen’s first kiss, but not the first time she had touched Aline, and it was the warmth of her fingers against her throat that relaxed her. It took being held, and being softly kissed, to remind Helen of who she truly was.

Faerie, or mortal, or something in-between, she was the woman who would follow Aline Penhallow anywhere. She would follow her into battle; into quests and forests filled with magic. She would take down a thousand armies, just to come home to this.

Tentatively, Helen circled her arm around Aline’s waist, gasping a little against her lips. She kept her other hand by her side, until Aline reached one down and linked theirs together.

“What now?” Helen asked. She was frightened, excited and desperate to hear the answer.

Aline smiled. “I don’t know.”

“Then why this?” She touched the corner of Aline’s mouth, at the dimpled smile. 

“Because I love you. And you will always be enough for me.”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

The two girls stood on the balcony for a while; the gardens below them, and the sky above them.

All was quiet, and all was as it should be. 

~

As she watched Magnus and her brother steal poorly concealed looks at each other, Isabelle fought back her grin and nudged Clary. The red-haired girl was sitting beside her, staring into the fire that they had just finished making. Firewood was crackling and lighting up the small clearing where they had made camp.

“Who do you think will talk first?” Izzy whispered.

To her surprise, the girl played along. “Probably the warlock.” Clary said dryly. “But your brother has been talking to him in his head the whole time.”

Isabelle stifled a laugh, turning her face away. She felt bad for a moment, and then the girl beside her caught her attention. In the light of the fire, Clary’s eyes were bright, and they were fierce in their focus.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long.” Isabelle apologised.

Clary’s brow furrowed. “What is?”

“Your memories. We promised to return them, but…so far, nothing.” Isabelle sighed. “I always keep my word, Clary, and I promise we will get them back. Soon.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.”

Clary turned back to staring at the fire.

Although she was tempted not to push further, Isabelle frowned. Had she said something to upset her? They had a wonderful time dancing last night, and Isabelle had been sure that Clary’s smile had been genuine. Holding Clary in her arms was a magic of its own, and Isabelle’s blood grew hot as she remembered how tightly their hands had held each other.

“What do you want, Clary?” Isabelle asked her quietly. “What do you really want?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

The question hovered in the air, and Isabelle was tempted to snatch it back again. To sigh and get up, to leave the girl to her own thoughts. 

“I don’t know.” Clary finally admitted. She looked up at Isabelle, shifting slightly on the log. “I do know what you want.” She murmured. “You want an adventure. Not a disappointing girl who steals your dreams.”

“Hey.” Isabelle scolded, but softly. She reached out a hand and tentatively pushed back some of Clary’s hair, brushing it around the gentle curve of her ear. “That’s better. Now I can see you.” Isabelle teased happily.

Clary smiled at her words, leaning into her touch.

Steadying her quick breathes, Isabelle licked her lips before she spoke. “I have learned something. Recently.” Isabelle smiled across at the girl. “Adventures are in people too, Clary. Sometimes they _are_ the adventure.”

And perhaps it was a truth that Isabelle had needed to hear, just as much as Clary. How often had she thought about slaying dragons and rescuing people? But how often had she craved this too? The unbeatable adventure of opening your heart to another. 

After a moment, Clary grinned. “Pretty words.”

Isabelle winked, tossing her hair back. “Pretty face too.”

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

Clary's cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Shut up.” She mumbled, but her nose scrunched up as she laughed.

“When we kill the beast, we can get back to saving the land. Stopping the demons, and stopping the sorcerers who are likely behind it all.”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds…heroic.”

Isabelle frowned. It took her a moment to work out why Clary had sounded so...final. So hesitant. 

“You want to leave.” Isabelle said. She didn’t ask it. The answer was clear when Clary turned her head away, refusing to meet Izzy's gaze.

Not wanting to dwell on that - or question why Clary was unsure about their future - Isabelle shifted closer and offered her a stick of meat from the rabbit they’d been slowly cooking over the fire. “Eat up.” She told the girl. “My cooking is to die for.”

~

“Alexander, I have to tell you something. You’re not going to like it.”

“W-what?”

Magnus sat down beside the prince and grinned. “This poor rabbit died in vain." He waved the skewered animal and grimaced. "Your sister is incredible, Alec, but by the Angel, she cannot cook.”

Alec laughed. It was a warm, brilliant laugh and Magnus was pleased to hear it again. 

And then, something caught him by surprise.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Magnus asked. It was a beautiful smile that greeted his magic with fire, lighting up Magnus' energy and making him restless. 

The prince shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. "It's just, you said..."

Magnus stared at him for another second or two, and then it suddenly came back to him. He had said the favourite phrase of mortals. Without even realising. “Wonderful." He snorted. "I’ll be devoting my virginity to the lords and ladies of Idris soon. Well, I would. If I had any to give.”

He winked, and the prince’s eyes crinkled as he tried not to laugh.

“So. Any special person in your life, Alec?” Magnus asked. The words slipped out before he could usher them back inside.

Cursing his foolish mind, he reminded himself that friends could talk like this. He was sure of it. Friends could ask other friends about their lovers.

Friends could-

_Think that word once more and I will kill you._

Magnus was still trying to work out how he could kill himself - he, an immortal - when the prince shook his head.

“No.” Alec replied firmly. He stared straight ahead, into the flames. “I can’t want that either.”

“Because?”

“I will likely marry for an alliance. Someone of noble blood. Hoping to marry for love? That's a fairy tale, Magnus.”

"Hm." Magnus mused on this for a second. He rubbed his forefinger with his thumb as he spoke. “And what do you call this?" He asked. "What do you call the very thing you’re now a part of?”

Alec didn’t answer, and Magnus knew he was heading in the right direction. 

“Even princes fall in love, Alec.”

The prince reacted violently to that. He shook his head so hard that Magnus thought it might hurt. “It could ruin everything. I could ruin everything." Fear was making Alec rush on, and Magnus listened with sadness. "My family, my friends, my people." The prince continued. "They could all suffer if I make a reckless move. How do you think that would feel? To love, but to hurt everyone around you?" Alec shook his head. "I can’t, Magnus. I won’t.”

“Then the only heart you will break is yours. And the poor bugger who falls in love with you.”

“That won’t happen. I can handle my own heart.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. He knew that he was being selfish, but he was angry. And hurt, if he was honest. But for the time being, Magnus felt the urge to snap. “Arrogance is dangerous, Alexander." He warned. "Intentional or not.”

“To believe I’m not worthy of love is arrogant?” Alec frowned, drawing up a knee to rest his chin on. “Yeah, you lost me there.”

“No." Magnus argued. He took an angry swig from his wine goblet. "To not think about the people around you. _That_ is arrogance. To not realise that…”

Magnus suddenly broke off.

What had he been about to say? To reveal?

_Don’t hurt me,_  was the ending to that sentence. And it was a dangerous sentence. Powerful words that could pain that prince even more. Magnus didn't want Alec to feel even more ashamed. Adding to his guilt would make everything worse.

“You know what, I’m sure you’re right.” Magnus said breezily. He waved a hand in dismissal. “This isn’t my place to-“

Alec interrupted him. “No. I, uh, don’t mean to be rude. Not really." He mumbled. He cleared his throat, and shifted slightly, turning to look at Magnus. His expression was almost sheepish. "I know I can come across as…abrasive, but I don’t know how to do this. How to…talk about myself."

Alec sighed. "If you give me a plan, I can follow it through. If you tell me someone is breaking a law and hurting someone, I can track them down and bring them to justice. But this,” The prince quietly tapped his chest. “, is the only thing that makes me feel helpless. Not in control. And I was taught better than that.”

“Being taught to hide your emotions is just as reckless as acting with your heart." Magnus said, but softly this time. "Believe me, I know." He was beginning to understand even more about Alec, and his closed-off heart.

Magnus finished off his wine and then tried again. He hoped it would be a peace offering, something to show his sincerity. "In the past, I’ve acted foolishly because of my heart." He began. "I once loved a woman who almost tore me apart. And not just in the literal sense.”

“The sorcerer you knew?”

Magnus blinked in surprise. How did Alec remember their brief conversation so quickly? It was just before they had reached the Guild, but still, even Magnus was shocked that the prince cared enough to remember. 

“Yes. Camille. Beautiful, insensitive, and conceited, but she was the love of my life. Well, one of them.”

“Does it make it harder? Or easier? To lose someone to darkness, rather than suffer after they pass on?”

Magnus reflected on this for a moment. Lying to Alec was out of the question, but he could soften the truth. 

“All loss is painful, Alec." He answered, truthfully, but carefully. "It’s the love you shared that makes it bearable.”

The night began another series of animal calls, and the wind picked up again, so Magnus excused himself and began to add a few more protection charms around their camp; all the while thinking about how he could help the prince.

He was also, again, lost in his own past; thinking about Camille, and the darkness she had been tempted by. The night of the attack on the castle had been a nightmare, for many reasons, but seeing Camille there, standing beside Valentine himself, made Magnus freeze on the spot.

And then she had tried to kill him. Magnus had retaliated, but some part of him was still lost in the love they once shared, and he had only fought back with enough damage to send her running back into the Shadowlands.

As he curled into the blankets, Magnus prayed for a dreamless sleep. He needed the vacant, white haze of an empty mind.

He needed to escape, for a moment, into a world without heartache and questions that he couldn’t answer.

~

“Wake up. Now!”

Alec’s eyes shot open.

He sat up so quickly that his head almost collided with Jace’s, who was looming over him with wide eyes. He handed Alec his weapon’s belt.

“The creature is close.” Jace announced.

Alec nodded. The thudding of his heart began pumping blood around his body, quickly stirring his mind until he was fully awake.

When he stumbled out into the clearing, Luciana was urgently whispering to the group, gesturing wildly with her hands. It was the most animated Alec had seen her act for days, and it was not a welcome sight. It meant trouble was coming.

“Fill me in.” Alec commanded.

Luciana hesitated. Her expression clouded over with fear, and then she wiped it away, facing the prince. She nodded. “The griffin is in one of the caves, by the lake. It’s sleeping, so I suggest you…end its life peacefully.”

“That doesn’t sound very heroic.” Jace muttered.

Luciana whirled around. “It’s an act of kindness.” She hissed, and the wings tucked into her dress suddenly sprung out, the tips turning towards Jace. “Even beasts like us deserve a happy ending.”

“You’re not a griffin.” Lydia said plainly. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Magnus for a moment. “Oh, you meant…”

Alec looked horrified. _Downworlders_.

Luciana thought they saw downworlders as monsters.

He opened his mouth to apologise – though for what exactly, he wasn’t sure – but then Magnus held up a hand.

“We should go now.” The warlock instructed. He snapped his fingers and familiar blue sparks danced across his palm. “Stay alert.”

Alec quickly looked at the two girls behind him. “Isabelle, you stay with Clary and-“

“No.” Isabelle cried. She stepped away from her friend and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not staying behind while you fight, big brother. And we do not have time to discuss this.”

Alec gritted his teeth. He didn’t need to be worrying over Clary, as well as hunting down and killing a terrifying beast.

Lydia saved him from doing so.

She placed a hand on his forearm. “I will wait with the girl. I promise, she won’t leave my sight. Now go.” She told him gently.

Alec smiled in gratitude. He could always rely on Lydia, the girl who was driven by her head almost as much as Alec was. He watched as she led Clary back to the circle of abandoned tents, and began circling the area.

The rest of the group rushed across the clearing, on foot this time. They raced through the trees until suddenly, the space opened up to reveal a giant lake. Around the edge was a group of caves, one of which was quite clearly harbouring their griffin.

The head was so big that every time it inhaled slowly, a handful of rocks would tumble down from above. Its eagle’s beak was a dull gold, and Alec estimated that it was large enough to swallow them down, one after the other. Huge, black feathered wings were curled on top of its back, and Alec watched as they rustled when the creature breathed in, and then out.

“It’s asleep still.” Alec whispered, relief flooding his senses. He was still alert, however.

Alert enough to see Luciana’s wings start to tremble. The faerie hovered above them, and the expression she wore was twisted with fear, but something else. Something unreadable.

Alec was about to ask for suggestions, when the beast shifted a little, its wings pressing against the cave walls and sending a tremor through the ground.

_“Kalei!”_

The cry that escaped from Luciana’s lips was even louder than the tremor. It cut into the silence like thunder. A tree cracked and fell to the ground, and they quickly leapt out of the way.

Alec briefly wondered if the word she had spoken was a spell. Was the faerie trying to kill the beast herself?

And then, the griffin’s eyes opened. They were furious, and, Alec grimaced, very much awake. The noise had startled the beast, and it roared loudly and plummeted into the clearing; its wings stretching out wide. The hide of the creature, and the two back paws, were that of a large cat, and its fur was short and thick as it stretched out, eyeing the group up.

It didn’t charge at them, but Alec drew his sword, and the others followed in doing so. Magnus was to his right, blue magic growing brighter in his hand.

“You need a distraction.” Luciana whispered.

Before anyone could protest, Isabelle stepped forwards. “Done.” She said, swinging her sword around with expert care. She took off running to the left, and before he realised it, Alec was chasing after her.

If Isabelle wanted to play the reckless distraction, then Alec was going to be right there beside her.

He was not leaving his sister to face an angry griffin alone.

“Alec, no!” Isabelle cried out over her shoulder. “Stay away!” She was still running, but the fear in her voice was almost enough to make Alec turn back around. But he didn’t; rushing to catch up as the griffin hurtled towards them. It was still a far distance away, but it was gaining on them, and fast.

Alec didn’t have time to look behind. He only hoped that the others were working out a plan. Otherwise they were going to be trampled on soon.

“Damn.” Alec muttered. He took a deep breath, steadied his nerves and reached for the bow slung over his shoulder. Still running, he managed to withdraw it and clumsy slot an arrow into the wood.

Not giving himself a moment to hesitate, Alec swung around and aimed.

He fired.

The creature let out a howl, and although the arrow flew into its large paw, it only paused to throw back its head and cry. It was a torn sound, half a bird's cry, and half a roar, and it shook Alec. He was frozen, unable to move.

Part of his brain could register Isabelle screaming at him to run, but Alec was rooted to the rocky earth.

And then he caught the look on Magnus’ face. His eyes were wide, and golden once again, and he was shooting blasts of vivid blue magic at the creature.

Alec wanted to cry out; to ask the warlock to just run. He was sure this was about to end in carnage, and the last thing he wanted was for Magnus to die. He hoped that his friends would make it as well, but with a sad resignation, he knew that Jace would go down fighting for him, as would Isabelle.

A strange thing happened next. It seemed to pause time itself.

It started with a strong breeze, unlike any that Alec had felt before. It was intense. It sent goosebumps along his forearms, and made the tiny hairs on the prince’s forearms stand up; as if in recognition of the power surging around the air.

There was magic in the air, as there was everywhere in the Shadowlands, but there was an intensity that washed over Alec and sprung tears to his eyes. Visions doused in a familiar hazel colour washed over him. He saw himself. He saw his smile, like he had never seen it before. There was a joy to it, one that he rarely felt, but clearly, someone else had seen it. Someone had noticed him, when even Alec himself had not.

And, there was blue. Ocean-blue, sky-blue, a blue so bright it dazzled across the ground. And when Alec opened his eyes, the beast was encircled by a brilliant light that wavered and flickered as the warlock standing by it struggled to hold the spell.

What was Magnus sacrificing for him? Alec gasped in horror. Watching in awe, and fear, the prince observed the trapped creature as it fought back against the magic holding it in place.

Magnus cried out. Pain flashed across his features; a pain so raw, and so twisted by agony, that it sent Alec sprinting back across the clearing towards them. He grew closer to the creature, step by step, and although everyone was crying out for him to run, all Alec could see was the violent shaking of Magnus’ hands. He was keeping the creature trapped, and saving them all.

_But he’s going to die._

That truth struck Alec through the heart.

As much as he wanted to deny it, there was no other explanation for his fears. Magnus was about to die, and Alec had to save him.

That was the only thing that mattered.

“Jace.” Alec was surprised by how calm he sounded. “Do you remember that time you dared me to climb that wall?” He shouted out, feeling the weight of his blade as he pulled it from the scabbard. “And you wanted to launch me up onto it?”

“You said no.” Jace yelled back.

“I’m changing my mind.” Alec said, determination colouring his blood with adrenaline. He swung the sword around and steadied his feet, joining Jace in front of the creature.

Jace’s eyes suddenly widened. He had realised why Alec was bringing back childhood memories.

“No!” Jace cried. “I’m not going to help you die!”

“Then Magnus will die.” Alec cried, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes met Magnus’. The warlock was still standing far away, and he had fallen to his knees; still raising his palms to continue holding the griffin it his spell. Sweat coated his forehead, dripping onto his lips, and he had never seen the warlock looked so pained.

And he didn’t want to. Ever again.

Whatever Jace saw in the prince’s eyes was enough to silence him. His lip shook, but then he bit it, hard, and nodded. He lowered himself into a crouch, and made a cradle in his palms.

Alec took a huge gulp of air in, stepped into Jace’s hands and launched himself upwards. His head tumbled forwards, arching over his stomach as he soared overhead and landed right atop the beast’s back.

The scaly feathers were rough under Alec’s fingers. He tried to stand, but wobbled. Grabbing the griffin’s wings, Alec climbed to his feet, charged forwards and then lifted both arms, and the sword, high above his head.

With a loud cry, the prince plunged the sword into the griffin’s head. Cold steel met warm, tough skin, and a painful shriek echoed around the trees as the beast howled.

The sword was buried deep within the creature’s head, and Alec lost his balance as the spell was suddenly broken. He turned to see that Magnus had collapsed, his hands curled into fists as he trembled on the ground.

Alec didn’t have another moment to spare, as the beast toppled to its side, falling down and bringing the prince down with it.

A sudden force yanked Alec’s wrist away from his body, and he cried out in pain as the weight yanked him backwards; away from the creature. He sailed through the air, the sky coming into view as his head fell back.

He waited for the hard ground to greet him. Likely, for the last time; depending on how awkwardly he landed. If his spine snapped, Alec knew this would be the last few moments of his life.

He didn’t even have time to have any regrets.

Surprisingly, the ground was neither hard nor fatal to the prince. Alec landed on something that grunted ungraciously. Apart from the burning pain in his wrist, there was no other discomfort. Only a few bruises that were already forming on his legs from the jump he’d somehow managed to land.

The beast fell with one last cry, and the ground stopped shaking beneath them.

Alec groaned, cradling his wrist, and letting himself have just a brief moment to wince. He then rolled onto his side, and found himself staring into the eyes of his sister. The whip around her arm was gone, and she held it limply in her hand as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Alec.” Izzy breathed out, reaching up to cup his face. She rested her nose lightly against his, smiling a little. Tears streamed down her eyes, and she brought up his injured hand to gingerly touch it in different places.

“I’m so sorry.” Isabelle whispered. “It was the only way to save you. It was either the hand or….or…”

“My life.” Alec finished quietly. He kissed her forehead, and then helped her climb to her feet. “Thank you.”

Jace suddenly cried out, “By the Angel!”

They had a few, brief moments of warning.

And then light erupted around the clearing.

The ground did not tremble, but Alec’s heart did. He felt the light burst around them, starting in the middle and pulsing out in circles. He closed his eyes, wrapping Izzy in his arms and shielding her from the glow.

As soon as the bright light faded, and the clearing returned to normal, Alec did not look at the creature. He did not even think about the light. He had one person on his mind.

One person in his heart.

“Magnus!” Alec screamed. Pushing through the aching in his legs, and carelessly swinging his broken wrist, Alec ran and ran until he had reached Magnus. The warlock’s eyes were open, but he was still in pain. Alec could tell, even though Magnus tried to turn his face away and hide it.

“Why did you do that?” Alec whispered, as he gently wrapped an arm around Magnus and helped him sit up. He was on his knees, and when Magnus sat up, his forehead brushed against his.

Alec’s breath caught. There was something intimate about sitting so close to the warlock, and he couldn’t help but reach out a hand and wipe away the beads of moisture clinging to Magnus’ forehead still. Forefingers dancing across skin, Alec felt the burning heat of Magnus underneath his hand.

Pulling away seemed like the best option, and yet, instead, Alec leaned in a little closer and rested his forehead against the warlock’s, tightly squeezing his eyes shut. “Why did you do that?” Alec asked again, in a feverish whisper.

“I had to protect you, Alexander.” Magnus murmured weakly. His usual strength was gone, but the smile in his voice was still there. When Alec pulled back, he blinked in surprise when he saw that the warlock was grinning.

“What?” Alec asked, almost smiling himself.

“How heroic you are, sweet prince.” Magnus teased. “That jump was…breathtakingly beautiful. As are you.”

Alec’s heart left his body completely. How often had he stolen glances at the warlock, thinking him the most beautiful creature in the land? His skin was smooth and warm, his eyes were bright and always full of such light, and laughter. Magnus gave Alec confirmation that the angels themselves were real.

And yet, Magnus was calling _him_ beautiful.

After a moment, Alec glanced away. “No one has ever called me beautiful before.” He admitted softly.

Magnus said, sweetly, “Then they are fools.”

There was a moment then, when Alec thought the world would stop. He felt the air hover once again, and the energy surging around them – from fear, relief, something in the middle – sung out a strange melody. It was a song that Alec had been hearing for a while, but as he leaned in closer to Magnus, he could count the number of lashes, and the small freckles on his nose, and the-

“Alec!”

Startling away from Magnus, the loud cry cut right through them, and Alec jumped back, almost falling over. He caught himself quickly, pushing up, and then remembering his burning wrist. He cried out, and then ignored it, pushing down the pain and turning back around the face the dead creature, and to face whatever reason Isabelle had cried out to him.

Magnus was already climbing to his feet when Alec felt the shock rush into his body. He gasped. “W-what…?” His voice cracked, and a bewildered numbness washed over him. He ran towards the others, and to where the creature had fallen.

Only now, in its place, was a young woman. She had reddish skin, with white, delicate wings spreading out behind her back on the ground. The tips were blackened, as if burned, and they quivered uncontrollably as the woman curled in on herself.

“Kalei! Oh, Kalei.”

Another pair of wings joined the group, and Luciana’s eyes were filled with tears as she knelt by the she-beast’s side.

_Kalei_.

Alec repeated the word back, and then it clicked into place. It wasn’t a spell after all. Or a curse.

The faerie had said a name.

“You know this creature?” Alec asked.

Luciana was weeping now, openly crying as she picked up the girl and shifted her, holding her tightly against her.

He winced. It was clear that the creature was not just a griffin. He stared down at the sword, which was now resting on the ground, the tip covered in sticky red blood. Alec picked it up and stared at it. His vision became coated in red.

All the rest of the colour around him faded into a sickeningly strong scarlet. The blood seemed to coat the entire sword, snaking up onto his forearms. He felt drenched in blood; coated in the death he had caused.

The red-skinned creature suddenly coughed, and blood trickled from her dry lips. She gazed up at Luciana, and suddenly she was smiling.

Luciana gasped. “ _Ki laghh fidkss allsaul.”_

The words were in another language, and Alec tried to translate it, but his mind was exhausted, and the emotions drained out of his body like liquid.

Oblivious to those around them, Luciana cradled the other girl in her arms and gently stretched her wings around the girl, as if she was wrapping her in a soft blanket. She kissed the top of her head, and a tear fell onto her forehead.

“I told you I would see you one last time.” Luciana whispered.

Magnus had caught up to them, and when he gasped, Alec felt himself turn, and reach for Magnus’ hand. He slipped his shaking fingers against Magnus’ palm, begging the warlock to understand; to need the comfort just as strongly as Alec did.

The prince waited. He held his breath.

After a moment, Magnus did not turn to face him, but he curled his fingers, linking them with Alec’s and squeezing.

The creature – who Alec assumed was called Kalei – was smiling, and the sight of such a tender look, paired with the blood staining her simple cloth dress, and oozing from her lips, made Alec sick. He swallowed down the urge to wretch. His insides were twisting painfully, and the heaviness of the sword in his left hand was only made bearable because of the soothing circles Magnus was tracing into his palm with the right one.

“You did it.” Kalei whispered. “You freed me.” Her blackened wings were slowly beating against the ground, as if wanting to take flight. But she was unable to, and Alec fought back the tears and watched helplessly.

Luciana was still sobbing, but she held the red-skinned girl and nodded. “You are free. You will not suffer anymore. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to free you myself.”

Kalei’s wings shuddered again, and she coughed. When she tried to raise a hand, the effort was too great, and she coughed. Gazing up at the faerie, Kalei smiled, her lips almost completely drained of colour now. “I will wait for you.” She whispered. “By the river’s edge. I will wait for you, forever. Luciana. My joy. My light. _Kakf fjeuu juliahagf.”_

Alec translated that with ease, and then wished he hadn’t.

_Love waits for all. I wait in the darkness. Free me with your light._

Gasping, Kalei’s chest heaved as she pushed up, and with the last of her strength, kissed Luciana full on the lips. It was sweet, and short, and Luciana’s tears dripped onto Kalei’s nose.

The faerie held her lover for a moment longer. And then Kalei smiled. Her eyes closed, and she rolled back into Luciana’s embrace.

Her wings beat no more.

~

Four hundred years was a long time.

In his lifetime, Magnus had known many silences. He had witnessed the silence that fell after a battle, where the only cries came from those mourning their fallen comrades. He had also known a happy sort of silence, where one lover kissed, and the other smiled into it; too happy to speak.

Until now, he had not realised how cruel a silence could be.

How full of regret it could be. How it could soak you in remorse and agony.

Staring down at the two women, Magnus felt the tears spring to his eyes. Faeries were old, but they were not immortal. At least, most were not, and yet, until now, he had thought of them as untouchable by death. He had never known a faerie friend who had passed on. He had only mourned faerie knights, slain in battle.

Luciana’s tears, and the way she held her lover so peacefully, made Magnus’ heart split open. He wanted to cry, to scream and beat his fists against something, but no sounds would surface.

The only thing he was aware of, truly aware of, was Alec’s hand. It clung to his so fiercely, and so desperately, and Magnus returned it with equal emotion.

Isabelle spoke first. “What happened?” She asked quietly. She was crying, as they all were, but she bent down and gently closed Kalei’s eyes, placing a fist over her heart in respect.

Magnus was tempted to turn away. To suggest that they all left Luciana to mourn the love of her life. And it was without any doubt that Kalei had been hers, because faeries often mated for life, and Luciana’s broken heart was all too familiar to Magnus, who recognised the ache of loss as clear as day.

But then Luciana sniffed, and lifted her chin. Her beautiful face was oddly calm. “Kalei was cursed. A long time ago, by a sorcerer who was angered by a foolish trick we played. We were young. So young.” Luciana’s voice cracked, and her shoulders shook again.

She gazed down at the woman in her arms and wiped away the blood, her thumb resting on her lips. “My Kalei was turned into this creature. This beast. It stole away her true self, and hid her inside. She was trapped, and there was no way of changing back except…in death.”

Luciana kissed the girl’s forehead again, and then gently shifted her, so that she was lying on the soft grass. Luciana knelt and began weaving tiny flowers into her hair, her hands trembling, but growing steadier as she concentrated.

After a moment, Luciana looked up at the group. “I’m sorry I did not tell you, but The Queen wanted the beast killed, before the truth escaped. Because…”

Luciana ducked her head.

“She could not be seen slaughtering her own kind.” Magnus finished. The disgust was clear in his voice, and he wished he could be gracious and hide it, but really, the prejudice was growing unbearable now. “She would rather have someone to blame. Us.”

Luciana suddenly climbed to her feet, and there was a smile on her face. “You freed her. Thank you.” She smiled, and although it was a little sad, it gave Magnus a little comfort to know that the creature did not have to harm anyone anymore.

Luciana’s wings tucked back against her body, but she rubbed the tips between her fingers, her expression sad again. “She made me promise to be the one to end it, but…I couldn’t. For years, I have tried, but I step away at the last moment. She is gone, but we will see each other again.”

There was something in her eyes then that caught Magnus’ attention. He watched as the faerie smiled down at her lover, who was still wearing the blood-stained dress, and straightened his shoulders.

He gently unlinked his hand from the prince’s, and smiled. “My dear, will you help me with her body?” He asked quietly.

Luciana blinked. She then shifted to stand slightly closer to Kalei. “Why?” She demanded.

Magnus took the faerie’s hand between his. He held them gently, urging her to see his good intentions. “Let me give this to you. To you both. I know what it is to lose someone you love, Luciana. I understand the pain you feel.”

He did not make a move to brush away her tears. Magnus knew they needed to fall.

“I understand.” He repeated quietly.

When Luciana did not protest further, Magnus knelt to the ground and carefully scooped the girl into his arms. The group followed him as they walked through the trees. All the while, Magnus kept thinking about loss. About love, and the tragedy of loving so deeply, and losing so often.

How terrifying love was, he thought. How beautifully tragic, terrifying and unescapable.

They reached the lake, and it stretched out in a vast, peaceful calm body of water. The setting sun reflected across the water, and Magnus gently passed the girl over to Luciana before clicking his fingers.

Making sure to not over-strain his magic – not after the powerful spell he had used earlier – Magnus conjured up an elegantly carved wooden boat. It was hollowed out in the middle, long and filled with grass and flowers as a bedding.

Stepping towards the water, Magnus helped Luciana lower Kalei into the boat. Her snow-white hair splayed out against the bed of colour, and she was like moonlight against a bed of roses and daisies. Her expression was vacant, but it was peaceful, and when Magnus glanced at Luciana, the faerie was smiling through her tears.

Magnus hesitated as he placed his hands on the edge of the boat. He had been about to push it out. To give the girl a grand farewell; something that promised she would be remembered.

But then he remembered that the girl in the boat was not his lover. She was not his best friend and soulmate.

Magnus held out a hand to Luciana. “I think you should do this.” He said gently.

Together, they pushed the boat out into the lake.

They stood together and mourned in their private world, but the comfort of being surrounded was enough. It would always be enough, Magnus realised. Loss could be overcome with a little love, and in return, love would end, only to begin again later. It was a cycle. An unbreakable cycle.

As they watched the boat sail out onto the lake, Magnus clicked his fingers again, fighting against the tiredness. His magic was so close to fading out, but he had to do this. For Luciana. He was determined to help ease her pain.

A beautiful shower of petals rained down around them, covering the lake in colour and making it seem like the heavens were washing away the blood that had been spilled. Magnus smiled, and he fought back the tears when Luciana smiled happily, and truly, for the first time that day.

“Thank you.” Luciana said. She rested her head on Magnus’ shoulder, and they watched the boat reach the middle of the lake. “She will always be remembered. Death is not the end for us.”

“I will return with you to Court. I promise, you will have your army. And a pathway. Anything I can do to repay you, ask me.”

Magnus smiled. “I do have a gift for you.” He winked. “My name is Magnus Bane. Use it wisely, _yh anghreed_.”

‘Little light’ he had called her, and Luciana smiled again. She understood the strength in his name. The power he had gifted her was a sign of trust, and Luciana guided the others away from the lake with one last look in her lover’s direction.

“Where is Alec?” Magnus asked Isabelle. He was suddenly looking around, and could see no sign of the prince. Fighting against the panic, he reminded himself that Alec had only injured his wrist before. Still, his chest tightened in fear.

Isabelle swallowed. “He’s…over there.” She pointed to a large rock overlooking the lake. The prince was sitting atop it, staring at the sword in his hand. His shoulders were hunched uncomfortably.

She looked at Magnus. “You should go and speak to him.”

“Why me?”

“Whether you know it or not, and whether my brother knows it or not, you two need each other.” Isabelle said softly. She leaned forwards and kissed his cheek for a moment, her lips warming his skin. “Join us when you are ready.”

Magnus waited for the princess to leave, and then he gathered up what was left of his courage and went over to the prince. Without a word, he sat beside Alec on the rock and gazed out into the lake. He placed his hands firmly in his lap, spreading out his blue robes over the stone and waiting.

There was no use in pushing the prince. When Alec wanted to speak, he would.

“I killed her.” Alec whispered, after enough time had passed for Magnus to fear the worst. And this had been it.

He felt the shame, and the loathing, in the prince’s voice, and immediately bristled against the unfairness of it.

And Alec was still holding onto the blood-stained sword.

“Let go, Alexander.” Magnus said gently. He waited, but still, the prince held onto it so tightly that his knuckles turned a stark white.

Reaching across, Magnus pried off his fingers, one by one, until he was holding the blade. He allowed a moment for reflection – to accept the blood and mourn its dead mistress – and then he placed in on the ground. Magnus placed the sword below them and then turned back to Alec.

“Alexander,” He called, softly. “, look at me. Please.”

Eventually, Alec did, and his expression was an open wound. He was so lost in the pain that he had bitten into his lower lip, drawing blood.

Magnus reached out and dabbed at it with the sleeve of his robe. He gently brushed it aside until Alec’s lips were no longer stained with red.

“Listen to me now. Before you start to hate yourself.” Magnus began. He looked down, and saw that the prince’s hands were curled into fists. “Now, that won’t do.” He said kindly, and reached out to unfurl them. He stretched out Alec’s palms and placed his over the top, warming them and hoping to stop the shaking.

The lake seemed to still completely then, and Magnus could feel the tether between the prince and himself growing taunt. It wanted to be closer; he wanted to be closer. But now was a time for comfort.

“You are a good man, Alexander.” Magnus soothed. “In the age we live in, there is evil, and there is goodness. I have seen both, and believe me, both are burdens. But we are stronger than the losses that threaten to tear us apart. Should we hide from our mistakes? No. But we can learn from them, and fight for those we love.”

Alec lifted his chin and gazed into Magnus’ eyes. His hazel eyes were brimming with tears, and again, Magnus had to remember that this was something Alec needed to hear.

He smiled, and carried on. “Alec, you helped her move on. You saved her from living a cursed life; a life of pain and killing that she never asked for. Be kind to yourself. _Please_.”

His voice had become a desperate plea, a whisper so soft that it faded off at the end, and became lost in the air around them.

A long pause settled in the light of the setting sun.

Magnus felt the roughness of the rock beneath him, and the softness of Alec’s hand, and everything felt as it should be. Strange, complicated, yet inspiring. It was the height of emotion, something Magnus had never quite been able to explain. It was that feeling of coming home. Of touching someone and accepting what they offered you. It was Magnus, reaching out, and Alec; reaching back.

The prince suddenly sprung forwards and threw his arms around Magnus’ neck. Two steady hands curled into the neck of his robe, slightly brushing strands of hair, as Alec drew him closer and embraced him without any hint of hesitation. It was such a bold gesture, and so openly intimate.

For a heartbeat, Magnus was shocked. He was overwhelmed to say the least.

The prince was suddenly in his arms – again – and Magnus was helpless to the allure of him. His nose was rested in the crook of Magnus’ collar, and letting go of his fear, Magnus wrapped his arms carefully around the prince’s waist and smiled, leaning into the embrace. The rock beneath them suddenly felt very far away, and the cool breeze was replaced by a growing heat that Magnus wondered was because of his magic suddenly flaring to life again. Although it was still faded, and drained, he could feel it slipping back into his blood, ready for a battle unlike any other.

To fight against something he wanted, something, _someone_ , Magnus desired with an uncontrollable passion.

Magnus closed his eyes and pulled Alec closer, letting himself comfort the prince, and envelop himself in the warmth of another’s arms.

If he could simply have this, the pleasure and the privilege of being Alec's anchor, then Magnus would welcome everything else. He would welcome the heartache and the distance they had to overcome. He would welcome a lifetime of memories, and a lifetime of loss that would always, always follow.

When he pulled back, Magnus finally wiped away Alec’s tears. “Let’s finish that quest of yours, hm?" He smiled. "And fight back against the darkness?"

The warlock stood, his robes falling around him again. He stretched out a hand to the prince. "One fight at a time, Alexander."

Alec took his hand and stood. Finally, his lips released their tension, and the last tear fell.

"One fight at a time." Alec repeated softly.

And he placed his good hand in Magnus' waiting one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, emotions are running high in this chapter :(  
> BUT THEY HUGGED <3  
> What did you think of Luciana and Kalei's story? It was inspired by an episode of Merlin, where a cursed druid became the Lady of the Lake, and I wanted to put my own spin on it in the fic :)  
> If you have time, leave a comment with your thoughts :) xx


	11. The Way Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!  
> Apologies for not updating sooner. Uni started again, and life got chaotic, but I'm getting back into writing and hopefully updates should be no longer than every fortnight from now on :)  
> This is a shorter chapter, so the next one will probably be up in the next week!   
> Happy reading :)

“My Lady, it’s not wise to fall asleep on your horse.”

“Oh!” Tessa suddenly shook herself back to consciousness. She sat up, stretching out slowly and blinking against the setting sun. Her horse continued riding on, and she readjusted herself accordingly. How long had she been drifting off? It was lucky that she hadn't completely tumbled off. 

She turned, and beside her, Will was grinning in that lazy, infuriating way.

“What?” She demanded.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smile never wavering.

Her words suddenly caught up with her, but she hid the fear tightening inside her chest. She’d just snapped at a lord, addressed him rudely and without consideration for his rank. No wonder he was silent, and likely thinking up an appropriate insult in return.

It surprised her when Will laughed. “So bold, dear Tess. Does my charm really wear off so quickly?” He pouted.

Jem spoke up then, to Tessa’s right. “I’ve told you many times.” He said. “Don’t blame poor Tessa for seeing right through you.”

Will covered himself with both arms. “You can see through my tunic?" He widened his eyes. "That’s awfully brazen. I feel exposed. Scared, even." His gentle waves bounced as he shook his head. "Someone might try to buy me as a decoration. Do I have the body to be a glorious statue?” He asked.

Both Tessa and Jem shook their heads, but Tessa’s smile betrayed her.

When she glanced to her right, Jem was also smiling. His smile was fond and gentle, softened by a lifetime of learning to read Will’s secret language. He spoke in teases and jokes, revealing softness in subtle ways, whereas Jem was open with his heart, and tended to keep the anger hidden. Both boys were complimentary to each other, and Tessa, again, found herself feeling guilty that she was enjoying the journey so much.

When they reached the door of the inn - a small, cosy shelter just off the main path - Tessa concealed her disappointment. Their travels had been easy, and spent in good companionship. Now, they were to meet with the warlock, Ragnor Fell, and discuss the dark times ahead. Discuss the shadowed future awaiting them all.

A stable boy led their horses away, leaving Tessa, Will and Jem to head inside. Despite his usual boldness, Will’s hesitation was clear. He wrapped a hand around the doorknob, his fingers tapping against the shiny handle.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I need to warn anyone about the welcome we’ll receive.”

Tessa hid her wince and shook her head. “Two knights and a lady walking into a downworlder inn? Whatever can you mean, William?”

“Be careful.” Jem warned quietly. He looked between them. “Both of you.”

Tessa reached out and squeezed his hand. It was such a simple gesture, but the moment she touched Jem’s fingers, the warmth overwhelmed her. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise, quickly pulled her hand away and blushed. Thankfully, it was dark. Her blush was hidden in the shadows of the inn.

Still, Will was grinning. He raised an eyebrow. “Our Tessa isn’t scared of warlocks, is she?”

Her cheeks warmed further at his words.

_Our_.

She had always thought of belonging as violent. Belonging to someone meant losing your freedom, and Tessa was sickened by the idea. And yet, the way Will spoke, with his fond smile and shining eyes, made her believe that it was okay to want it. It was okay to belong to someone, if they loved you entirely for who you were.

Before she had time to reply, Will took a deep breath and flung open the door. Light flooded in as they stepped inside.

The three of them were quickly ushered in, grateful for the cluster of bodies and the loud volume of singing, shouting and chatter. The inn was formed of benches and tables, with a long bar to their left. Dozens of lanterns lined the overhead beams, and although the place was crowded, it smelled of candle wax and strong lavender.

Still, half a dozen heads turned in their direction. Tessa tried not to wince as she spotted a man with a long, red, lizard’s tongue grinning at her. He wiggled an eyebrow, and she quickly looked away.

A hand pressed to her elbow then, and she inclined her head to see Jem standing protectively close to her side. She leaned into his touch and gratefully let him lead her through the crowds, taking the longer way around the edge. Will was behind her, so close that his chest kept brushing her back, the shivers sparking down her skin.

“You actually came.”

The voice that had called out was surprised, as well as humorous. The warlock who had spoken was grinning with the same good humour, although, Tessa realised, he was also nursing a large goblet of wine. She wondered how many he had already downed while waiting for them.

Will sat down with a flourish at one of the low tables, sinking onto it with a dazzling grin. He beamed across at the warlock. “Do you feel lucky? Not many get to see such beauty in their lives.”

Only when Tessa was seated between the two knights, and facing the warlock, did she let herself meet his eyes.

Green-skinned, dark-eyed and tight-lipped, Ragnor Fell was adorned in elegant deep brown robes with an intricately woven gold trimming. His fingers were ringed, and jingled against his goblet as he raised it to his lips.

When he lowered it, he sighed. “Do hurry up. I have other things to do besides wait for mortals to abuse my power.”

“We’re not here to abuse your power.” Tessa said quickly. And loudly, to be heard over the inn’s racket.

Ragnor tilted his head. “Really?” He said, lowly. “Then please, enlighten me. What _do_ you want? Your note was...vague."

Never one to be put off by abruptness, Will reached for the warlock’s glass and took a gulp. He wiped his mouth against the back of his hand and smiled. “We need you. Idris needs you. And other warlocks, but you’re going to be the first. You should be flattered.”

“Flattered.” Ragnor repeated dryly. Although now, there was confusion in his dark eyes. He hid it with a scoff. “There are other words that come to mind.” He frowned. “But you said in your note that Magnus Bane sent you."

“Yes.” Tessa nodded. She was still trying not to stare at the two large horns protruding out of the warlock’s head. Instead, she stared at the elegant collar of his shirt. “You come highly recommended.”

Ragnor let out a laugh, and when she looked up, he was smiling. “No need for flattery.” He assured. “I’m listening.”

“We need your help.” Jem began. Even though he had to speak loudly, his voice was still soft, and even Ragnor leaned in to the pull of Jem’s light. “Our prince, and your friend, Magnus, need assistance. We believe there is a war starting in the Shadowlands. Or, at least, we are only now hearing about it. There are demon attacks, growing more in volume each day. We need to unite everyone. This is our land, and together, we should be able to stop whoever is behind this, and bring back peace.”

Ragnor finished sipping from his chalice. He narrowed his eyes, but what gave him away was the undivided attention. He gazed across at them. “You really believe that you can unite our kinds?”

Tessa found herself smiling as she nodded. She understood fear, and found herself remembering that warlocks were part human, as well as demon. Ragnor might have green skin and fascinating horns, but he also had just as much humanity as everyone sitting around the table. 

“Alec can." She said. "The prince, I mean. But…we can help too. I believe that.”

Ragnor was quiet for another moment. He ran his thumb across his chin, in deep thought. "So, you want me to travel to the Shadowlands?”

“Yes." Will confirmed. "And muster up as many supporters as you can. Any warlocks who wish to help. It's everyone's fight. A war that will come to us all, even if we ignore it."

The warlock didn't argue. He sighed, looking into his now-empty goblet. He looked up and smirked. “Two knights, a lady, and a warlock. Not exactly a legendary beginning, hm?”

But he spoke with good humour, and Tessa didn't feel stung. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, but excited energy was coiling inside her. She had often been teased for being plain; for having little to say, and little to fight for. This - sitting in a downworlder in, with two knights beside her - felt right. It filled her with purpose, and a new future she had only dreamed about. The castle felt like a prison. Here, she was free. 

Jem finally replied for them. “Legends begin in the strangest ways. And with the smallest flame.” He said. He extended his hand to the warlock in offering. “Would you like to be a part of that?”

Tessa held her breath. She urged Will not to make a smug remark, and thankfully, he didn't.

After a long pause, Ragnor gripped Jem's hand in his own, shook it once, and then released it. He stood, leaving the empty chalice on the table. "I will need some time." He told them. "But no longer than a fortnight, I promise.”

"Any support you can find will be worthwhile." Tessa reassured him. 

"I will do my best."

"Thank you." Jem said. He pushed his hands against the table and stood. "We must ride back.”

Ragnor shrugged. "If you insist." His lips twitched in amusement. "Although, I do have a perfectly _sizeable_ room on the third floor. I'm leaving now, it would be a shame to have to hand it over to a stranger." His expression turned grim. "Besides, it is dark. What if demons start to roam a bit beyond the Shadowlands?"

Fear lodged itself inside Tessa's throat. She knew that Ragnor was warning them, not scaring them, but still. Death was inevitable. Tessa knew this. But the thought of being torn to shreds by invisible horrors was a nightmare that Tessa didn't want to see become a reality. 

"Take my room." Ragnor insisted. "Unless, you want to share with someone like him?" Pointing to the leering red-tongued man, Ragnor made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

That was enough for Will. "We'll take it." He said quickly. "Demon pox is real, after all."

Tessa let out a growl. "By the Angel, William, how many times have I told you?" She glared at the knight. "That really is just a story."

Will simply beamed. "We'll see."

Handing over a long, elegant key, the warlock shrugged on a beautiful, scarlet cloak and turned to leave. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." Ragnor said. He smiled, but it did not reach his dark eyes. "Take care."

The trio didn't stick around any longer, quickly locating the stairs and dodging past any bar fights. Luckily, there was only one, and Jem side stepped gracefully as a goblet of wine went hurtling through the air. Tessa kept hunched over until they were out of the room. 

Only when they had reached the door to Ragnor's old room did Tessa allow herself to breathe again.

She lost it almost entirely when they stepped inside.

"There's...only the one bed." She said faintly. She was too tired to even widen her eyes in shock. 

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"Nonsense. There's a spot by the window that has _my_ name on it."

Tessa blinked, turning to the two knights who had spoken so quickly. Jem was blushing, the pink colouring his cheeks. Although Will was still grinning, he kept glancing around the room rather than meet her challenging stare. 

"James, share the bed." Will insisted.

Jem shook his head. "No. Don't be so stubborn. Take the bed. I slept a great deal on the journey-"

"Lies!"

"And how would you know-"

"Because I do, James. I know you, and your self-sacrificing goodness. Stop being a saint and take the bloody bed-"

"Enough!" Tessa cried out.

Silence fell, despite the quiet echo of the bar in the floors below.

She blinked in surprise at her own outburst. It wasn't only Jem who was blushing now, and Tessa placed a cool hand against her burning cheek. Trying to compose herself, she placed her hands on her hips and tried to look firm. "This bed is large enough for the three of us. How can two brave men be such idiots?”

Will looked at her in surprise. Beside him, Jem’s lips pulled up at the corners.

For a moment, Tessa feared they would snap back. Or worse, laugh at her. But then, she realised how much she trusted the two knights. They would never laugh at her. Not cruelly anyway. 

When Jem spoke, his voice was gentle. “It would seem that you've met your match.” He said to Will, but he was gazing at Tessa from beneath his long lashes. 

Will nodded, almost absent-mindedly. “We both have.” He murmured. 

As they stood there, Tessa knew how improper this was. To share a bed with not one, but two knights, when neither of them were married. But, they were not ordinary folk. They were bound together.

Besides, Tessa told herself, sharing a bed didn’t mean a proposal would soon follow.

Realising that they were still not moving, she took a deep breath and flopped down onto the bed, not undressing – because that, she thought, would definitely be crossing the line. If Jem and Will wanted to debate over etiquette, they could do so when she was sleeping. 

Tessa yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. Perhaps being tired made her reckless. She suppressed the urge to giggle. 

And then two weights anchored her on either side. She opened an eye, just a fraction, and saw Jem to her left. She opened her right eye and saw Will sighing into the pillow.

There was little space between the three of them, and as she felt herself drifting off, Tessa wondered whether in the wake of war, and dark times, could people somehow find a home as well?

~

Alec and his knights returned to the Seelie Court just as the sun was setting.

They had travelled as quickly as possible, in sombre, yet hopeful, quiet.

Without even realising - or likely not wanting to - the prince had rode beside Magnus the entire time, but the only time they spoke was when Magnus let out a deep sigh.

Alec turned and quickly asked, “Are you hurt?” He felt the panic creep into his voice instantly.

“No, no. It’s just…I realised something.”

He waited for Magnus to elaborate.

“The lake. It was part of the prophecy.”

Alec felt a prick of fear stab at his chest. “W-what?”

_“A tale of bridges, towers, lakes; a shadowed fight._ ” Magnus recited smoothly. “We were always meant to reach the lake. It was foretold.”

The prince thought about this, as they continued to ride through the trees. They were nearing the borders of the court again, and it filled him with restless energy. Everything was so close, and yet, far away. They were on a quest, but things kept changing, or not playing out exactly how he'd thought they would. 

Finally, Alec asked, “Destiny can’t change then?" His words sounded sorrowful, and he couldn't keep the frown at bay. "We really are just following someone else’s path?”

He was torn between gratitude and frustration when Magnus answered him honestly. “I don’t know, Alexander." The warlock said quietly. "There are some things even beyond my knowledge.” He smiled for a moment.

“Can we...stop the prophecy from coming true?” Alec asked. 

“Do we even need to?" Magnus counteracted. "We have to be careful." He ran a hand through his hair, and the blue streaks captured Alec's attention. "Just because something is foretold, or forewarned, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad, Alec." Magnus told him calmly. He shrugged. "Prophecies can be warnings, but they can also be guides. Usually, both.”

“Helpful.” Alec muttered.

Magnus flashed him a dazzling grin. “I don’t make the rules.”

Lingering a little too long on Magnus' lips, Alec quickly turned away. “I know." He mumbled. "Sorry.”

“No need for that." Magnus dismissed kindly. "We’re all…tense. But we’re in this together, until the end. We’ll head to the island and stop the demon attacks. I promise."

“You really believe that?”

_You really believe in me?_ Alec wanted to ask. It was a question he was too afraid to voice out loud. 

Magnus nodded. “Yes.” He answered, simply, and without hesitation.

Alec felt his cheeks warm. “Good. Because…your opinion means a lot to me."

Now it was the warlock's turn to look away. Magnus was staring ahead now, but his lips were pulled into a smile.

Alec felt the urge to go on. "Your wisdom, your courage…I, uh, don’t take it for granted. I'm sorry if I did before.”

He was now thinking about how Magnus had trapped the creature with his magic back in the clearing. He had repeatedly asked Magnus if he was really all right, but the warlock had shrugged off his concerns and nodded.

When explaining, Magnus had told him, “It _was_ a powerful spell, but it draws on emotions, not energy. You have to pull on something strong, something meaningful.”

“What did you concentrate on?” Alec asked, curious.

When Magnus didn't reply right away, the prince hesitated. He thought back to when the spell had been cast, but his memory was hazy, lost in the adrenaline of the fight. He remembered seeing a colour in his mind. Not the brilliant blue of Magnus’ magic, but something else. And he remembered memories.

“I thought of someone very dear to me.” Magnus finally replied. He didn't share anything else. 

“Oh.”

Alec didn't want to think about that. Or wonder about who Magnus held close to his heart. Who had that privilege? He wondered. He hoped that whoever they were, they would treasure Magnus, and appreciate everything that made him who he was. 

They were quiet then, and reaching the outskirts of the fae’s domain.

Luciana eased herself, and her horse, beside Alec, and cleared her throat. “The Queen will keep her word. I promise.”

“I hope so.” Alec muttered. He definitely didn’t want to consider how killing a cursed faerie for no reason could shape his mind. There had to be a way forwards, otherwise, it was all for nothing. He had spilled blood simply as a pawn to the Seelie Queen.

Luciana must’ve sensed his shift in mood, because she reached out and gently touched his arm. “I don't blame you.”

Until then, Alec hadn’t realised he was asking this. But when he glanced across at the dainty faerie, and her smile was genuine, if not a little sad, relief flooded into his blood.

“Really?”

Luciana nodded. “Love doesn't always last forever, but…it stays with us. Always. And…I hope you find love like that one day.” She spoke shyly, but her eyes were fierce. “Everyone deserves a love that changes their world.”

Alec didn’t know what to say. What could he respond with? A smile? A scoff? Neither seemed appropriate for the fae’s enchanting hopes. Because they were, Alec realised. Love was a magic in its own right; a right that Alec never believed he was entitled too.

_Until now?_

Quite often, the prince would shake away these thoughts. He would bury them, keep them from spilling out like the secret dreams of a child. Now, he was finding it surprisingly difficult to keep his heart at bay; to separate himself from the notions of falling in love; of following his heart.

Someone drew their horse closer to his right, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Alexander, can I ask you something?”

“W-what? What it is?”

Magnus stared at him for a moment. His smile was lazy and suggestive. It sent coils of heat tightening inside Alec’s chest. “Nothing to look so frightened about, my dear, but I wanted to ask if I could enchant your friends’ weapons?" Magnus pointed. "Like I did with your bow.”

“Oh. Oh, right, yes. Of course.” Alec waved a hand, and then realised it might be considered dismissive. “Uh, whenever you want to.” He added quickly.

Magnus winked. “Much obliged. Also, can I…?” He pointed to Alec’s bandaged wrist – made from the torn cloth of Jace’s tunic. Alec had shaken his head, but his friend was already wrapping it up before he had time to protest.

Alec had never thought to ask Magnus to heal it. And then he remembered _why_.

“No.” He quickly said. “No, thank you. You used up a lot of your strength back there...I don’t want you burning out.”

“Alexander, I _never_ burn out.” Magnus winked.

Alec grinned, unable to keep it concealed. It was probably improper to encourage the warlock’s teasing, but he was past denying that he found it endearing. Frustrating, but endearing.

“How did you two meet?” Luciana asked quietly, interrupting the moment. In an instant, there was tension in the air, thickening around the pair as Alec avoided glancing across at Magnus. He concentrated on the feel of his horse moving beneath his thighs; the path ahead, and the unsteady breathes trying to unnerve him.

Fortunately, Magnus spoke before the prince could gather up any shred of self-control.

“We met when he was a boy. A very sweet boy.”

“I've changed a lot since then.” Alec scoffed.

“In some ways, yes."

Magnus was looking at him. Alec could feel his eyes watching him, but he didn't have the courage to face him. Not yet.

"But...you still have the same crinkles in the corners of your eyes." Magnus revealed. His honey-smooth voice was even more alluring today. "And the blend of colours in your eyes are something a painter could spend his life capturing, and still, never quite do them justice."

He laughed once, and the sound was strangely breathless. "You have that rare smile still." Magnus said, quietly.

Alec felt his entire body tremble. He was caught between heaven and hell, wanting, and needing. Everything Magnus was saying made him feel more alive than ever before, but still, he couldn't bring himself to glance across. 

Magnus cleared his throat, and there was a shift in his voice. "What you said to me that day…I was in a dark place, Alec." He revealed.

Alec knew he was being entrusted with something important. He finally turned to watch Magnus.

"Camille was turning to dark magic, and I was desperately trying to save what we had..." Magnus exhibited his vulnerability with ease, but Alec knew it was a gift. He knew not to take it for granted. He listened in silence, scanning the warlock's face for any sign of distress. 

Magnus suddenly smiled. His lips pulled up, slowly, and grew into a smile that sent Alec's heart lurching. His expression was hopeful, and his eyes were cast down almost shyly when he spoke across to Alec. "And here was this boy, so gentle, and unaffected by darkness, telling me I was beautiful. Thank you for that.”

“I-I didn’t do anything." Alec protested weakly. Everything about the moment was colouring him in memory. It was like he was young again, seeing the beautiful man in his library. Only now, he knew Magnus. Really knew him. Again, pride warmed his heart.

"You were the first warlock I’d ever seen." Alec admitted. "You were…different.”

Alec thought in wonder at how such small moments could change the course of your life, forever. Had he not met Magnus, even in that brief moment, would he have chosen him for the quest? Would their paths ever have crossed?

Alec’s chest suddenly felt taunt with fear. He was almost choking on it. A path without Magnus, Alec thought, was a terrifying one. He was still wrapped up in the comfort of Magnus’ arms, from after the fight with the griffin. Alec remembered the urgency, the desperate need to pull the warlock close. And he had done. And Magnus had no pulled away.

“We’re almost here.”

Luciana’s words jarred the prince back to the present. Around them, the air was crisp and cool, the late summer air soon turning to the coolness of the later season. They wore thick tunics and layers of undershirts now, and Isabelle’s sleeves were always rolled down; her gauntlets a thick band of leather around her arms.

As they fell quiet at the first sound of music, Luciana took the lead and led them back through the courtyards, where a crowd of people buzzed in excitement as the knights re-entered. Meliorn parted the crowd carefully, and inclined his head.

The small smile on the fae’s face was oddly comforting to Alec. As he swung down from the horse, the prince returned the smile and let Meliorn lead them through the Court.

“The Queen has been waiting for you.”

The Court was less busy than before, but it was still overwhelming. He was grateful when Magnus shifted towards the front of the group, drawing everyone’s attention with his graceful walk. He made sure not to overshadow Alec, and the prince was, again, surprised by how well they understood each other.

Isabelle linked her arm through her brother’s, giving it a quick squeeze. “We’ll be on our way shortly.” She reassured.

Jace nodded, but his eyes were narrowed. “If we can trust her.”

“You can’t.” Magnus said, in a low voice. “You should trust yourself before you trust anyone; mortals, downworlders, those in between. It’s the first lesson in survival.”

“I see you have returned.”

The Queen’s voice was sharp and loud. It reminded Alec of the sound of cracking ice, the moment before the plunge froze your feet into icy numbness.

Magnus bowed, and the other followed – just without the dramatic flourish. Alec was glad that Magnus’ gesture was so grand. It meant that Alec could hide his smile. There was always depth to the warlock’s flourishes; always a meaning beneath the surface. This time, he was – again – protecting the group. Shifting attention.

“We have, Your Majesty. One dead _griffin_ , as promised.”

No one else noticed Magnus’ slow emphasis on the name, but the Queen did.

She pursed her lips together in tight anger. “I offer my gratitude.”

Alec wanted nothing more than to scoff. But scoffing at a highly powerful, and dangerous, faerie, seemed disastrous.

Everyone else kept silent.

“Wonderful. Very well, I have kept my word. Meliorn,” She called out and flicked her wrist. Bangles of thin, glistening silver shone. “, do show our… _allies_ , the route we have picked out.”

She stood, and the fae on the High Table did as well, ready to follow her out of the throne room.

The Queen narrowed her eyes. “Whenever you need our assistance…how shall I call upon you?”

“Luciana here knows the way.” Magnus replied, coolly. He nodded to the fae standing beside them. By that, his answer was clear. Magnus meant that he was not revealing any names to the court.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, her only sign of annoyance. “Then you may leave. To follow your…quest.”

It was clear in her voice that all she felt towards the quest was disdain. But even, Alec thought, towards the demon attacks and the alliance. She really was keeping everything neutral. She was an ally they could never trust, but still, as they began to be led out, Alec found himself stopping.

He turned back around. He called out, “When I am king, the faeries will once again have a place in my court. A voice. I promise.”

His words echoed. Although they were brief, the faeries murmured and gasped.

Even the Queen turned her head sharply.

“And you can promise that, with what?" She sneered. "By your sword? By your angels, who see our kind as nothing but cruel and wicked?”

“No. By _this_.”

Alec withdrew his sword calmly, making sure to keep the blade pointed downwards. He then lifted his hand and drew the sword across his fingers in a careful, quick cut. When blood welled, he gasped at the sting, but made no other noise.

He lifted his open palm to the court, pushing past the fear, and latching onto the tiniest spark of hope burning inside him. Burning from his friends’ support, from their adventure and the new courage it gave him. Burning from Magnus, and his lingering guidance.

“I vow, by my own blood, that I, the Prince of Idris, and future King of Idris, will offer a place by my side. In my court, you will have a voice, and a say. This, today, I vow. Before you all.” He squeezed his palm into a fist and let a few drops of blood fall onto the floor.

There. It was done.

The faeries who understood the custom gasped in surprise. He felt his knights, and Magnus, hesitate as well.

A blood vow was the strongest of sorts. Unbreakable not because of magic, but because of pride. Anyone who broke a blood vow was considered a traitor to all, not just the victim themselves. It was often only a vow made at wedded unions, or coronations.

He bent, wiped the blood away – Alec knew how dangerous it would be to leave his blood lingering in fae soil – and then stood. He slid his sword away and folded his arms behind his back. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

He held his breath, and waited.

Not responding, the Queen turned and began to walk away. Only as she reached the edge of the steps, she inclined her head a fraction. She nodded.

There was a moment of calm then.

Alec watched as the court of faeries filed out, leaving only Meliorn and a few other fae waiting beside him. Alec felt the sting of the small cut still, but it was nothing compared to the raw break of his wrist bone on the other hand. Which was still wrapped tightly and bound to his torso. He knew that Magnus wanted to heal it, but Alec still insisted on waiting a little while longer.

“Clary!”

Isabelle’s sharp cry pierced the air.

Alec swung around and saw that the other girl was shaking violently. As Isabelle held her upright, Clary trembled and her eyes rolled back as the lids closed. It was only for a few seconds, but it was a terrifying moment where no one knew what to do. Or how to help.

Magnus waved a hand across her forehead, blue sparks appearing, but after a moment, they faded. He shook his head quickly. “We can’t help her. This is up to Clary now.”

“What is?” Isabelle asked, her eyes wide. She helped them lay Clary down on one of the rich rugs, pushing away her hair and trying to keep her body still. “What’s happening to her?” Izzy cried.

“She’s remembering.”

“Why does that not sound like a good thing?”

“Oh, it is. If she’s powerful enough. Which,” Magnus quickly looked at Isabelle. “, I’m sure she is.”

They watched, gathering around the girl.

Lydia thought for a moment, and then offered, “Something must have triggered her memories. Perhaps…her father took her to court?”

“I’m sure Valentine wanted her to grow up educated.” Jace snorted, but he sounded anxious too. “Cultural awareness doesn’t seem like it would be high on the agenda for raising an army.”

“What can we do?” Izzy cut in. 

Magnus looked apologetic now. “Wait." He said. "That’s all we can do. Believe me, I don’t like it either." He knelt down and magic pulsed in his palm. After a moment, Clary's body kept shaking, but the trembles were less violent now. Magnus sighed. "But she has a gift, and strength. She’ll return to us, I’m certain.”

Lydia took a step towards them and placed a pillow under Clary's head. She stood back, hovering uncertainly. 

Still sitting beside the girl, Isabelle removed her gauntlets and brushed away the beads of sweat forming on Clary’s forehead. She then placed them by her sides and took the other girl’s face in her hands. Her thumbs grazed Clary’s cheeks.

As she gazed down at her, Alec felt his chest ache in distress. What if Clary wasn’t strong enough? What if her memories didn’t return, and his sister’s heart would be broken? What if the girl before them was their doom?

“Clary, can you hear me?” Izzy whispered. “If you can, I want you to know…it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I promise. Whatever you were, whatever you are, I…accept you. All of you. Accept yourself too.”

She leaned down and kissed Clary’s forehead, and a tear fell. It landed on Clary's forehead, but did not fall away. It was in that moment, that Alec had an odd epiphany. A moment of certainty. He realised that the way to save someone was with love, and fear. Light and dark. It was simple and complicated all at once. Isabelle kissed Clary's forehead because she cared, and also because she was afraid. It was that balance that made everything seem right. Strong. 

Because of that, it was almost with very little surprise that Alec watched as Clary stopped shaking, gasped, and opened her eyes.

The red-haired girl stood, still holding onto Isabelle’s arm. Her hair spun around as she glanced around the room.

“Mom.” Clary whispered.

Alec blinked. Now _that_ made him surprised.

“Uh…I don’t think she’s here.” He heard himself say. “Can you-“

He quickly shut his mouth when his sister gave him a pointed glare. “Give her a moment.” Izzy warned.

Alec clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Fine.” He held up his hands in surrender. After all, it wasn’t as if they had a very important quest to finish. Or that demons were attacking, and sorcerers were trying to start a war. No. Not at all.

_Take your time_ , he thought.

He was distracted for a moment when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Alec turned and felt his smile return.

“I was about to ask Meliorn about your whereabouts." He let out a sigh. "Are you two staying?”

As Alec looked at his two friends, one so recently changed, but still familiar, the prince knew what their answer would be.

It was obvious; in the way that Helen held herself tall, and the way that Aline stood by her side. The pair of them were forces to be tested, but never defeated. He had known who they were since the day he knighted them. Helen and Aline were warriors, but they were also dreamers. They were ready to move on, and their paths were now diverging.

But still, Alec felt a smile appear on his face. Helen was smiling, and her hair was pinned back neatly, with the odd ringlet curling down her face. She looked at peace, and Alec knew how difficult facing her past, and her future, would be.

Alec knew what it was to hide. Perhaps it was why he had never questioned Helen before. He believed, whole-heartedly, that the faerie’s loyalty, and their friendship, was stronger than any division in their blood. Stronger than anyone who claimed they were less alike than before.

“You’re going to need allies here.” Helen finally said. “I have a place in Court now, but Alec, I swear, my loyalties to you will always come first…” She looked down at the floor, biting her lip.

Alec shook his head. “Don’t be foolish.” He said, kindly. “You can belong to more than one place. And I will never question your loyalty. Not now, not ever. You are my friend, before you are anything else. The chaos in this land won’t change that.”

Aline smiled then. “And Helen is royalty. She has power here, power that can help raise an army, and unite the faeries with our kind.”

Alec blinked in surprise. “Is that so?” He asked dryly.

“I didn’t know.” Helen muttered, but her lips twitched in amusement. “But yes, my mother shares the bloodline of the Seelie Queen. Cousin. So…Aline is right.”

“As always.”

Helen shot her a look, but as soon as their eyes met, Alec watched as their expressions softened. Their smiles grew gentle, and their hands reached for each other’s.

Alec let out a sigh. “So, you’re a princess.” He tried to laugh; to shake off the shocks that kept piling up. First, a Cup that was getting less and less like an impossible nightmare by the minute. Second, a griffin that turned into a fae. And now this, a friend who was a princess.

“It would appear so. I have a lot to learn, but…I think I need to be here. For now." Helen nodded, and then again, firmly. "Anytime you need me, send a note. We are still your friends, and your knights. I’m sorry to abandon my duties…”

“You should be free to follow your heart.” Alec interrupted softly. He grew silent then, the words catching up with him. He meant it. He truly wanted Helen, and all of his friends, to choose their own paths. Why couldn’t he bring himself to want the same thing? 

Perhaps Isabelle was right. Perhaps he _was_ hiding behind his duties, instead of realising what power he had, and what that power could change. He thought about how Magnus had spoken about unity. Already, Alec had sworn a blood vow to the faeries, and allied with werewolves as well. There was a war coming, but also, peace. At the end, when everything was over, Alec wondered, no, _hoped_ , that it wouldn’t be an end at all.

It would be a new beginning.

“Princesses.”

Helen frowned. “Hm?”

Alec only realised he had spoken when his friends stared at him. “Oh.” He scratched his ear, embarrassed. “I was just thinking about this riddle. Well, a prophecy. Long story….” He trailed off, but still, the realisation surprised him. At the same time, it didn’t. It fit another small mystery into the puzzle of their future, unlocking it, bit by bit.

_Princesses. Isabelle, and Helen._

Aline clasped his forearm, in the typical knight fashion. She looked up at him, a fierce expression on her face.  “We will fight, if the time calls for it.” She promised.

Helen took his other arm and nodded.

He hugged them both, tightly, and then stood back. Tears were in their eyes, but Alec couldn’t keep his smile hidden. There was always sorrow in goodbye, but also joy. He was watching his two friends find their own happiness.

“Good luck.” He told them, ignoring the slight crack in his voice.

He waited until they had crossed the room to say goodbye to the others, and then he let the tear fall. He felt it fall against his cheek.

Oddly, it didn’t make it to his chin. A soft finger reached out and touched the right side of his jaw, the touch ever so slight, but enchanting. There was pressure, but not too much. The tear was wiped away, and then the gentle hand pulled away, not lingering too long. It was tender, and careful, and Alec knew exactly who he would see when he opened his eyes again.

“I’m not sure why. I'm not even sad.” Alec said quietly.

Magnus just smiled. “Sometimes, there doesn’t need to be a why." He didn't move away, and Alec didn't want him to. "It’s okay to not understand everything in this world. The devil knows that I don’t. And believe me, I’ve met the bugger.” An unreadable emotion crossed the warlock's face then.

Alec frowned. “You have?”

Magnus took a small step back, his brow now creased with tension. He glanced away. “The devil is a concept, Alexander. He can be many people. Many creatures. But hell, I’m afraid, isn’t a myth, and I pray that you don’t ever have to see it to believe it.”

Alec was about to ask something – anything, really, to show that he wanted this, he wanted to be entrusted with Magnus' past – when Isabelle called out.

They headed back to the table, and Clary was drinking from Isabelle’s wooden holder, filled with water from a lake on their previous stop.

She wiped her hand across the back of her mouth and sighed.

She looked up at Alec. “You were right to send for allies. You’re going to need them. Soon.”

There was already a change in her, and Alec didn't need to ask if she had remembered.

Clary's expression was fierce. She stood, and although her legs shook, her expression was firm. “My father is alive." Her voice ran out, loud and clear. "And he’s going to be coming for me."

When no one made a move, the red-haired girl cleared her throat. "Let’s do this properly.” She smiled at Isabelle, and then turned to face the group. “My name is Clary Fairchild, and I’m the key to the Mortal Cup." She held up a hand, cutting off Jace as he opened his mouth. "Yes, it’s real, and yes, it’s dangerous. And very powerful."

She nodded to Alec. "I need your protection.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. "Demanding, aren't we?" He muttered. 

Clary didn't even blink. She stood her ground. 

“Unless you want Valentine to raise an army of immortals and demons, I suggest you listen to what I’m about to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a shorter chapter than usual, but it was a way to tie up the Court segment. Also, Magnus and Alec are really getting to the point where they're good friends, and trusting each other, and SLOW BURN AF. (sorry not sorry).  
> CLARY GOT HER MEMORIES BACK, YAY.  
> Next chapter (as you've probably worked out) will be filling in the gaps of Clary's story, and heading back to the werewolves! Clary/Luke reunion is coming up! And....a few not-so-nice surprises.....o.o  
> Let me know your thoughts! :)


	12. Closer To The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Another update for you all! Longer this time, with lots of action, dialogue and fun surprises!  
> Happy reading! :)  
> The chapter title comes from 'closer to the edge' by 30 seconds to mars, which is an AMAZING song.  
> Also, the fanfiction playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc

_"This never ending story,_  
_Paid for with pride and fate._  
_We all fall short of glory,_  
_Lost in our fate."_

_~_

Alec had only met the newly awoken Clary for a few moments before deciding that he’d rather she’d carried on sleeping.

And then he saw Isabelle’s wide grin and managed to at least contain his sigh. His mind was almost over-spilling with questions. _What do you mean Valentine is alive? Is he close? Is he really raising an army again? Can we stop him, and how?_

So many helpful questions to put forwards. Logical. Calm. Sensible.

Instead, Alec opened his mouth and accused, “Are you working for him?”

“Alec!”

“Hey!”

“Alexander, perhaps..."

Whereas Izzy and Jace’s tones were far from amused, Magnus was smiling a little as he held up a hand. “Perhaps give her a chance to explain first, hm?”

“What if we’re just giving her more time to work out a lie?”

Clary let out a cry of outrage. There was a storm in her eyes as she shouted, “My brother didn’t _die_ so I could stand here and be yelled at by you!” 

There was silence around the room then. Even Alec didn’t argue with her fury.

Clary let out a deep sigh. After another moment, she began again, quieter this time. “I don’t care if you’re a prince, and I don’t care that you don’t like me, but you have to listen." She said. She looked around the group questioningly. "What happened to sticking together? This affects everyone. You said that." She met Alec's gaze again. "I trusted you, now trust me.”

When everyone turned to wait for an answer, Alec turned around. “Where’s the map?” He demanded. He turned towards Meliorn, who was still waiting for them by the table a few rows down. “Let’s find out our route, and then deal with…” Alec waved a hand at Clary. “, this.”

He tried to hide his frustration, but it was bubbling inside his chest. 

“Patience, friend.” Jace was suddenly beside him, and clapped the prince on the shoulder. “I know you’re....on edge, but Clary can help us, remember? We’re all on the same side here. Breathe.” He said, quietly this time. He waited until Alec’s shoulders unknotted some of their tension, and then stood back.

“Okay.” Alec let out another slow breath. “Route.” He repeated.

They gathered around the table and waited as Meliorn gracefully unfolded a long cloth, torn at the edges but otherwise intact. It was the colour of sand, with dark ink spreading across it to reveal a map that neither of the knights, or the prince had seen before. Even Magnus leaned forwards to see it.

“The Shadowlands.” Meliorn introduced, with a little flourished movement of his hands. “The Seelie Court is located here.” He pointed a finger towards the map, at where an elegant courtyard had been inked onto the cloth. It wasn’t quite in the centre of the forest, but it was further enough in that Alec heard himself gasp.

How far they had come without Alec realising it. Past the Caves, the tower, the Guild, the werewolf pack, and into the Faerielands. There were many worlds within the forest, and they had seen many already. Alec didn’t know whether to feel pleased, surprised, or anxious. He kept quiet.

“Why are maps so hard to come by?” Jace asked.

“Besides mortals not wanting to know, or not caring.” Magnus added dryly. 

Meliorn inclined his head gracefully. “The Shadowlands change, much like Idris does." He revealed. "Consider it like this. You rage wars, build homes, create new life and destroy others. Your settlements change every time. So do ours. But the Shadowlands has many customs. Different species and kinds share this place. Sometimes that means conflict, but not often. Still, everything changes with time, even for ancient beings. And immortals.” He nodded respectfully to Magnus. “Maps are not hard to come by. Truthful ones, however, are.”

“Skip the niceties, my dear.” Magnus grinned. He settled back against the bench and cocked his head. “We need a way to reach the Cup, before an evil lord with an ego complex gets to it first.”

“Ex-lord.” Clary mumbled.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Details, details.”

“Stick to the path. _Our_ paths." Meliorn instructed calmly. He was pointing out a fairly simple path with his forefinger. "The faerie trail will take you through our parts of the forest. If you keep to the path, it will take you over the hills and through the valley. It’s a slightly longer journey, but it will avoid the sorcerers who live scattered around the other side. It’s the safest way. As safe as can be.”

“And after the valley?” Lydia asked.

“The island is a short distance from the edge of the valley." Meliorn explained. "When you reach the last peak in the mountain, you will be able to see the island." Something unreadable flashed in his eyes then. It was solemn, almost apologetic. "The flat peaks will be a good place.”

Alec felt his brow furrow in confusion. “For what?” He asked.

The seelie hesitated, and it was the hesitation that made it clear. He was afraid. 

It was Magnus who replied, lowly, and with finality. “For battle.” He said. “The last valley is a good place for battle, is what the dear faerie is saying. We will be able to overlook the island, and see how many await us. We can prepare, and attack.”

“Oh.”

No one else spoke for a few seconds. Alec tried to prepare himself. He had been trained all of his life for this. To fight, to die for his land. Why did the prospect of facing such terrors only remind him that he had only ever fought for things he was taught to? But now, he had so many reasons to fight. Not just his people, who would always be a huge part of his purpose. His friends, family, new companions.

Meliorn gracefully stood from the bench. He was looking at Magnus, but addressing the group. “When you reach the peak, if there are…obstacles, then call for our aid.” He bowed.

Magnus smiled, and it was that lovely, dazzling smile that always caught Alec's attention. He was aware of the uncomfortable tightening in his chest all of a sudden. What did it matter who Magnus smiled at? He was a kind man. 

“Thank you.” Magnus said. His smooth voice matched the easy expression he wore. “May we…?” He pointed to the map, not touching it, but hovering his fingertips over it. The rings jingled slightly, and Alec thought they sounded like bells. They were Magnus' own music, his very own, personalised song. Alec loved the sound of it, soft and pleasant. 

Meliorn nodded, the corners of his lips pulling into a smile. “Please.” He invited.

“Appreciate it.” Magnus thanked him, and carefully rolled up the map with nimble fingers. 

Alec clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Are you done?” He muttered, before he could stop himself. At once, his shoulders stiffened. He turned away from Meliorn's gaze, but he could feel the faerie's eyes burning into him. 

Magnus, on the other hand, was unavoidable. Alec was looking at him already, helpless against the pull. 

The warlock's eyes widened as he stared. And then his lips twitched. “Yes." He smirked. "Quite.”

Alec ran a hand through his hair. He was finding it difficult to hold Magnus' stare now, and so he climbed up from the bench and stood. "Good," He said. "Because Clary has important information."

Isabelle let out a bark of laughter. “Now you want to listen?”

Alec decided that yes, he would rather listen to Clary throw their entire world into ruins than watch Magnus make eyes at the faerie.

Which he probably wasn't even doing anyway. 

Meliorn didn't seem too offended. He nodded at the group. “I’ll go and prepare your horses. Be ready soon.” 

As he left the room, Isabelle was already turning to Clary. She had her hand on the small of Clary’s back. “Why don’t you sit?”

The red-haired girl sighed. “Yeah, because I didn’t feel short enough already.”

Even Alec had to hide his smile at that. He felt his expression soften. “Uh, whenever you’re ready.” He sat down on the bench again. Magnus was still beside him, on the right, and Lydia, to his left.

Finally, Clary sat down, sitting directly opposite the prince, so that when she looked up, Alec couldn’t ignore the determination in her eyes. She was fierce, Alec had to admit.

“My father was Valentine Morgenstern. Well, is. He’s alive." Clary said. "That’s probably the first thing you should know. At least, he was a handful of years ago.”

“When Anna locked you in the tower?” Alec offered.

“Yes. Anna...” Clary swallowed, sadness casting shadows in her eyes as she looked away.

Isabelle nudged her. “She kept you safe. Like she promised.” Isabelle comforted her quietly.

Clary smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I…I’m not sure where to begin."

"Wherever you want." Lydia said with a smile.

"From the beginning?" Jace suggested.

Clary nodded. "I'll try." She said, and then took a deep breath. "You have to know that I never stepped a foot inside the castle. I didn’t know anything about the attack. I still don’t. Not really. All I knew, then, was that my father needed to leave the village."

She closed her hands into fists, and the knuckles were bone-white. "One day, he came in, having been missing for days after the attack, covered in dust and soot – from the cells,” Clary quickly explained. “He told us to pack up our things, and we fled. We were on horseback, riding until we reached this huge forest. I didn’t know where we were. I had no idea about the Shadowlands. Not then, at least. It was kept hidden from my knowledge. My older brother, Jonathan, kept me quiet."

Another shadow crossed Clary's expression, and her lip quivered for a moment. She continued, quietly. "He told me that the way to survive was to be careful, and wait for the right moment. I thought that maybe, this could be over soon. I could just wake up, be in my bed, and go about the day as normal.”

She snorted. “No chance of that. Not after….what my father did to Luke." Her jaw clenched in anger, replacing the sadness quickly. "Valentine let him get taken by werewolves. After that, I knew that my father wasn’t a good man. He was insane. Especially after his banishment. He dragged us through the forests, and we made camp with these awful creatures. They were faeries, but…nothing like here..." Clary was staring down at the table, her eyes distant. "Their kingdom was dark, and cold, and filled with laughter that stayed in your ears like insects buzzing.”

“The Unseelie Court.” Magnus said. He looked angry. “Your father allied with fae who liked to cause mayhem.”

“He did.” Clary sighed again. For someone who had been put through a lot, even Alec was impressed with her strength.

When she carried on, the girl's story continued on. “We lived there for…I don’t know, a while. My father was rarely there. In a way, not a lot changed. Apart from the obvious setting change. But…we had a place to stay, to sleep, to eat. I ate faerie food, but…it didn’t affect me. Valentine said I was gifted, that I had unknown power. He was proud of me, but…in a way that made my skin crawl."

Clary shivered, as if the memories were returning again, and again. Isabelle sat close to her, and placed a comforting hand over one of hers, and when they shared a look, Alec felt like there was warmth in the room. 

"He was grooming me for something." Clary said quietly. "My mother knew it. She guarded us, urging us to bide our time. And then, when we left, my father took us to an encampment, just on the edge of the sea. You could see this...island from far away, and….there was magic there. Not like it is here, but really, old, powerful magic. The kind that makes you feel like you’re blessed to just stand there and feel it. Or cursed.” She added with a grimace.

Alec felt himself sit up, even more alert. "Alicante."

Clary nodded. "Yes. That night, my father whispered for my brother to wake up. I pretended to be asleep, and then stole into the night after them. They went out on a boat, towards the island. I couldn’t go, but I watched as the little boat drifted off. I sat, shaking from the cold, and waited."

Alec wanted to look away, to try and stop it from happening. But this story had already played itself out, and he sat with the other, just as helpless, as Clary revealed the rest.

"I waited for a while." Clary said. There were tears in her eyes now. "Just as I was ready to head inside, there was a giant burst of light, coming from the island. It ripped in circles, pulsing like sunshine, and then it cut off." She looked up, and her eyes were shining. "Only my father came back on the boat.”

Isabelle's face had paled. "He killed him?” She asked, her voice trembling in anger, and fear. 

Clary looked away. “He did. To try and get to the Cup.”

Jace leaned forwards, elbows splaying over the table. "What do you mean?” He asked. "He didn't get the Cup? Why?"

“It’s protected." Clary revealed. "And my father believed that to gain its power, you needed a tremendous sacrifice. For a long time, he thought this meant _power_. He lured in dangerous downworlders and ancient beasts, killing them with the help of the sorcerers. Yes, the same ones who survived the attack. They're gathering together again."

She ran a hand across the table absently. "Although the sacrifices still didn’t get Valentine past the Cup's protection, they _were_ able to drain their energy instead, and open portals. That’s why demons are returning. My father is killing downworlders, draining their blood, energy, whatever, and summoning demons. His army is building, but for now…it’s not unstoppable. But," Clary met their eyes, and said, apologetically, ",he might have the Cup soon.”

“What makes you think that?” Alec asked quickly. His heart was already racing in his chest, taking in the new details. 

“Because…I’m the sacrifice.”

It was an odd confession, but, no one disagreed. In a strange way, it felt truthful. It made sense, and Alec could find no reason to doubt this. 

Isabelle gasped. "It's because of your gift, isn't it?" She asked, her eyes widening. "It's unique." She scoffed in disgust. "Valentine wants to kill his own daughter. For power. For the Cup.”

“He killed my brother first." Clary reminded them. Her eyes were still damp, but her lips were pressed firmly together. "And…maybe my mother. When Valentine wanted to kill me, my mother managed to have me flee with Anna. She was so brave. She knew that she would be killed. Or bound to Valentine’s side, always. I have to find her. I owe her so much.” Clary was starting to cry now, her shoulders trembling. “Please, help me.”

She gripped Izzy's hand, and it was that simple gesture that made Alec speak first. 

“If Valentine gets his hands on you, the whole land is in danger." He said. "Of course we’ll protect you.” Alec nodded, as if confirming it again. He would’ve protected her anyway, she was now one of his people, but he was also feeling stubborn and didn’t want to say.

Jace rolled his eyes. “We’ll keep you safe.” He promised Clary.

Isabelle nodded in confirmation. “We’re your best chance.” She said, with a smile, but not arrogantly. 

“I know.” Clary said. A hint of a smile touched her lips. "If Valentine manages to break the protection, and get the Cup..." She shuddered.

Everyone pondered this for a moment, the realisation that was building; how much they had to lose, how easily the land that they knew and loved could be destroyed. 

“Then we need to be on our way." Alec said, loudly. He cleared his throat, hoping to sound reasonable. "But first, we have to send a note. It really is war ahead of us, and there has to be no ifs and maybes. Idris needs to be prepared."

He paused. "I don’t think our notes have been reaching the castle." He admitted. It was something he'd been thinking about for a little while now. "And we certainly haven’t heard anything back, so does anyone have any suggestions?”

"May I send the note?" 

Alec blinked in surprise at the faerie's reappearance. He hadn't even noticed Meliorn slipping back into the room. 

The faerie simply smiled. "We seelies have a…way with nature. Animals listen to our calls. With your permission, I can send notes that won’t be intercepted.”

Alec considered this. “Alright." He said, slowly. "Please send one to the Lightwood Castle...”

As the prince continued to give the instructions - to send it directly to Raphael, who would in return, announce the news to his parents - Alec knew that speaking through his knight was cowardly. He just wasn’t quite ready to command his parents yet. Informing them was one thing. Demand their presence was another.

“Make it clear that Valentine is raising an army. They _can’t_ ignore this.” Alec insisted.

"So," Jace sighed, rubbing a hand across his temple. “Where do we go from here? Start heading to the hills?" 

They all stood, slowly gathering up their weapons.

It was the natural rhythm of the group that soothed Alec, and the prince felt his answer naturally come to the surface. “I think we should journey back to Luke’s pack." He said. "And there, we begin our ride across to the valley. And to the island.”

Everyone seemed to be in mutual agreement. Alec relaxed, just a fraction, letting out a sigh. At least they had a plan. For now. 

Until Clary cleared her throat. “There’s something else.” She admitted. 

Alec hid his groan. He steeled his nerves and asked, between gritted teeth, “What now?” 

Again, she didn't flinch away. She lifted her chin. “The Cup is rumoured to grant immortality, you know this, and I know our focus is on stopping Valentine, but…what if we could destroy the Cup?" She asked. "Instead of fearing its power?”

Isabelle was watching her intently. “That way, Valentine couldn’t keep luring downworlders to their deaths." She said, narrowing her eyes at Clary. "Or opening more portals.”

Clary nodded. "Exactly."

Alec held up a hand in exasperation. “But how do you suggest we do this?”

“The Mortal Sword, of course.”

~

Magnus himself felt surprised at that. Another legendary name, object, dropping into their quest. 

“My dear, are you sure that’s real?” He asked, unable to keep the doubt at bay. 

Clary raised an eyebrow. “As real as the Cup?” She challenged. 

He held up a hand in surrender. 

When no one moved to oppose her, Clary leaned down, and after a moment, she unwrapped a piece of cloth from her ankle. She held it up, a little sheepishly. "The night when I fled, my mother said goodbye to me. But she also handed me this."

As she placed it on the table, Magnus saw that a little sword was inked into the cloth, protruding from a large rock.

Magnus felt a shiver run down his spine. The power even of the image itself was making him feel small, which was a rare feeling for Magnus. He spoke solemnly, “This is said to be the _only_ thing that can match the Cup’s power. Both were born from the Angels. They were gifts, balances of chaos and harmony."

“And I suppose it requires a sacrifice too?” Alec asked.

Clary shook her head. “No. I don't think so. But…it doesn’t have a place, exactly. You can't just find it." She paused, frowning as she tried to explain. "It’s not in this world. Or any world. It’s in a sort of abyss, but it can travel. It only appears briefly, but no one can locate a pattern.”

“So, what?" The prince asked. His arms were folded across his broad chest. ", we just wander around the forest until we find it? Maybe ten, twenty years later, we’re all dead, but oh! Look at that! At least we have the sword!”

Magnus hid his smirk. 

“Alec.” Isabelle warned, clearly not as amused by the prince as Magnus was.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Look, let’s just take this as a possibility." She offered; ever the neutral ground between the group. "We still have the quest, and the journey. We have to make it to the valley and see what’s awaiting us. Then, we fight. We fight whoever is waiting there, and whatever is guarding the island."

Isabelle nodded, shooting Lydia a grateful look. She turned to her brother. "Lydia is right. We are not letting Valentine sacrifice Clary to gain immortality for himself, and his followers. He has demons? Fine. We have strength in numbers, and hope." Her eyes burned with fierce determination, and Magnus encouraged her on with a nod.

"We were born for this, Alec." Isabelle said, quietly. "You were. This is our time, there’s no turning back now.”

Jace nudged Alec playfully. “Let’s go and claim ourselves a spot on the tapestries.”

Although it was lovely to see them coming together again, Magnus felt Clary's impatience, even from across the table. He cleared his throat pointedly. “First, I think someone is eager to reunite with a certain Alpha.”

Clary was beginning to pace the floor, biting her thumb. When she heard his words, she turned to Magnus and smiled. “Please. I want to see Luke again. I can’t believe I just…didn’t tell him how I loved him, or how happy I was to see him…”

“You didn’t know.” Izzy quickly defended. “We’ll get you back to Luke, and we’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

They began to head for the courtyard, towards the stables. The faeries they passed kept away, or nodded respectfully, and Alec was both pleased, and a little sad, to leave this all behind. 

Jace was laughing as he said, “It would probably do the girl some good if she knew how to hold a sword. Someone should probably teach her.” He added, beginning to whistle a little tune.

Isabelle nodded in agreement, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You're right." She linked her arm through Clary's and asked, “Clary, do you want an incredibly gifted, strong, brave, beautiful teacher? Or do you want Jace?”

“Hey!”

Magnus could see that Alec was about to cut in, when a short distance ahead, Meliorn cleared his throat. “Your horses are saddled and waiting.” He said, and waved an arm ahead. 

The journey coming up, Magnus thought, would test them all, but he was lost in the magnitude of it all. He had fought wars, had great loves, and gone through the entire spectrum of emotions. But this, he thought, was something else. 

And even Magnus didn't know if he'd had long enough to prepare for it.

~

“Expect a…colourful goodbye.”

Alec was about to groan at that - it meant attention again, and really, the prince just wanted a day off - when he saw Magnus’ joyful smile. The warlock fell into step beside him, hips swaying, and smile beaming up at him. "You're going to adore this, Alexander."

“A-adore what?”

He tried not to blush. Or stare. And he was certainly not thinking about how charming, and youthful, Magnus looked in that moment. Or how his brown skin contrasted the glow in his eyes.

He must’ve been staring quite badly, because Magnus cleared his throat. “You haven’t seen many warlock marks before, hm?” He asked. 

“I have.” Alec said, and it was the truth. Still, he wanted to keep watching Magnus'. They were alluring, and it struck Alec as strange that only recently the warlock had spoken such praise about his own eyes. Alec thought his were dull in comparison. 

“Oh, so my mark isn't that special?” Magnus teased him. They were placing the last of their gear onto the horses, before swinging up, and readying to leave. 

"They are. I just...you don't have to hide them." Alec now had his back to Magnus, stroking his horse gently. He was glad. If he was watching Magnus again, he couldn't hide his blush.

The distance gave him courage. Alec cleared his throat. "I don’t like to think that you’re wasting magic trying to keep everyone happy. Do you like them?” He asked. 

He heard Magnus let out a tiny sound of surprise. “Well…yes.” 

Alec had no choice but to turn around now. He leaned against his horse, carefully, and watched as Magnus adjusted the final strap on the reins. "Then don't glamour them. Please." He added hastily. Alec scratched the back of his neck. "Or do. Just...whatever makes you happy.”

When Magnus turned around, facing him, his expression was caught between surprise, and happiness. It was a startled look, and when he spoke, Magnus' voice was quiet. "You make it sound so simple, Alec. A lot of people see my mark as…strange. A way to remind themselves that we’re different.”

Alec frowned at that. How could anyone see the warlock's eyes as anything other than extraordinarily beautiful?

“But they change with your emotions. That’s human.” Alec said bluntly.

Magnus tilted his head to the side, his smile soft. “I’ve never quite thought of it like that."

Alec scratched the back of his neck again and smiled, nervously. Under Magnus' watchful gaze, he tried not to squirm. The warlock always gave him his full attention, and it still surprised, but delighted Alec. “If even you have things to still learn, perhaps I’m not too naïve.”

Magnus shook his head. “You’re not naïve, Alexander." He told him with a smile. "Caution isn’t a bad thing.”

“You don’t see me as…young? Inexperienced?”

For a moment, Alec thought about stopping the conversation. He didn't need to know whether Magnus found him young or not. What did it matter? But it did, and it was with baited breath, and anxious silence, that the prince waited. 

Magnus looked at him, his eyes drinking him in, slowly. “Look around you." He said, after a long pause. "You’re on a quest, shaping a new age, and learning to become a king that everyone will look up to. Adore, even. You’re far from ignorant, and far from youthful."

Alec smiled at that.

Slowly, Magnus' smile became a smirk. It lit up like fire, dangerous and burning hot. "Although you do still blush beautifully.” Magnus winked at him.

Ignoring the ache in his chest, and the urge to reach forwards and touch him, Alec turned a fraction. He pretended to be very interested in getting ready to mount the horse. "I think that’s a compliment.” Alec finally said, letting his voice become casual. 

“Oh, it was.” Magnus purred. 

Even without looking at him, Alec could see Magnus' curving grin in his mind. 

As the others joined them, and as they climbed onto their horses, Alec hoped that he hadn’t make a complete fool out of himself. If it meant that Magnus was smiling and perching happily on his horse, then Alec decided that it didn’t matter too much. His pride could be wounded in exchange for Magnus’ pleasure.

His happiness made it all worthwhile.

It was odd, Alec thought, to have a way of thinking for so long that when it began to change, you didn’t even notice it. Not at first.

But thinking back to the start of their quest, when Alec had arrived at Magnus’ tower to hire him, would he have exchanged laughter and trust so easily? Would he have longed to touch Magnus in a way that went beyond surface desire? 

But now, as they started to ride slowly across the courtyard, Alec knew, with surprising clarity, that his way of thinking was being changed. Forever. This was a quest that not only would take them on deep, physical journeys, but also one that would tether a new Alec to the new age they were forming.

The prince was already saying goodbye to his old self. He could feel it slipping away, bit by bit. With every second, the Shadowlands welcomed a beginning, a middle, and an end. All at once, he felt hopeful, frightened and incredibly sure about one thing.

Alec was changing. It wasn’t just the world around him coming into focus, it was his own self.

He was lost in thought when someone came rushing out onto the path. A small, elegant, white horse trailed behind her.

“Wait, please!”

Alec drew his horse to a quick stop, turning a little as the fae approached.

Luciana’s eyes were wide, and her chest heaved as she ran; a chest now covered in strange leather that wrapped around her torso. There was a sack tied around her shoulder, and when she stared up at Alec imploringly, he already knew what her question would be.

“I can’t stay here.” Luciana said firmly. “Here was where I waited for a very long time. Now that…she’s gone, I can’t wait anymore. If I stay, I’ll always be waiting for her to come back. To come home.”

The fae's lip trembled for a moment, and then she squared her shoulders. “She’s not coming back, and I want to help you." Luciana said. "Take me with you. I’m a good fighter. I understand the lands, just like your warlock does. You need me.”

“He’s not _my_ warlock.” Alec mumbled. He quickly glanced across, but Magnus was staring pointedly in the other direction. 

“Not yet.” Luciana winked.

For a moment, he was too shocked to say anything. He just gaped at the fae. Alec could already feel his ears burning, likely changing to a bright red, but as she mounted her horse and waited, Alec could find no other reason – other than his pride – for turning Luciana's offer down.

“I need to find a new way to live.” Luciana explained. “If you think that I don’t belong, send me away, but Alec…” She looked away. “Your Highness,” She corrected. “, I think that I can be of good use to you.”

“It’s Alec to my friends.” He said, after a pause. He nodded. “Join us. I can’t promise you’ll be safe, but…we look out for our own. If you join us, you’ll be treated like one.”

Luciana smiled, and it was a smile written in hope. “I’d like that.” She said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s a war ahead, remember?”

“War is a terrible thing, I agree, but letting it consume your existence, your purpose for living, is more dangerous than the act of war itself. If you give it power over you, it can shape you. Turn you into a solider, and nothing more. You must fight a war for the right reasons. Not because you believe in the values of those who came before you."

Alec was quiet for a minute. 

Luciana was smiling again when she asked,  “Do you want a future?”

“Y-yes.”

“A happy one?”

Alec hesitated then. “Happiness doesn’t exactly fit into our busy schedules.”

“I don’t believe that." The faerie shook her head. "If that’s true, then why do you smile so much? Why do you look towards your friends and feel that tugging in your heart? You feel, Alec. Don’t shy away from it. Take it from a very old being, you don’t have long in this world. Even if you live to be a thousand, it isn’t long. Cherish your days, and fight for more.”

He was about to reply, when suddenly, a shower of petals rained down on them.

Alec gasped as they lined the path ahead, covering it in vibrant colours.

Magnus was throwing his head back, laughing, and Alec immediately felt his eyes drawn towards the sound, and the sight, of the warlock. He watched the happy departure and smiled in return, and to himself.

Magnus had been right. Alec _did_ adore it. 

And it certainly wasn't the only thing he took a liking to. 

~

Simon was filing books away in the library when the bird tapped its shiny beak on the window.

Naturally, he threw the pile in the air, and winced as each one landed in some sort of upside down position on the floor. At least they were only cookery books, but still, they were books. Simon could almost hear Tessa’s horrified screeching in his ear.

He was just regaining his breath, when the bird tapped, rhythmically this time, and when Simon turned his head towards him, it winked.

Simon wondered if it was possible for your heart to stop beating. He then wobbled on the ladder, gave a surprised yelp, and tumbled back completely.

He closed his eyes, not even having enough time to contemplate about crying for help. His surprise grew further more when he didn’t collide awkwardly with the ground. He landed in someone’s arms, the warmth a nice surprise to the expected sensation of unforgiving wood.

He let out a breath, shakily, and then realised he was still just lying there in his random saviour’s arms.

“I’m so sorry-“

He broke off with a start. Opening his eyes just made the surprise turn to shock, fear, and then oddly made his heart pound away.

"Raphael, I..."

Simon quickly scrambled away from the knight, planting his feet firmly on the floor and leaned back against the shelf. His elbow hit the hard edge of a book, but he hid his wince; balancing his arm on the shelf and trying to look casual.

“Good morning, Raphael.” Simon mumbled.

The knight was still holding his arms out, and if the situation wasn’t so unfunny, Simon might’ve laughed at the frozen expression on Raphael’s handsome face.

Raphael blinked. He lowered his arms quickly, and took a step back. “I see you’ve been ignoring the message.” He said, and there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“What? Oh!” Simon quickly raced to the window and flung it open. The bird flew inside and landed with a graceful descent on the centre table.

It was in the early hours, and not many scholars were risen yet, so Simon and Raphael were alone as they hunched around the bird and plucked its scroll from its pretty beak. It was an odd bird, small, and green, with wide eyes, but it seemed to wait with purpose.

“What does it say?” Raphael asked. He didn’t lean across to read it, but Simon felt his urgency.

“Damn things are impossible to break- ah, got it.” He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, quickly reading it. “It’s Alec. He…oh….oh….oh!”

“Let me.” Raphael invited, and he took the scroll, reading out loud, “My friends, I fear that our messages are not winning against the dark magic growing in the Shadowlands. We have not heard from you, but assume that you have sent us letters already...."

Simon sat and waited, even when Raphael's voice trailed off. The letter's content had caused a black, gaping hole of fear to spread across Simon's heart. He gripped the table edge and waited, trying not to show his fear. 

Simon sat and stared into the bird’s eyes as Raphael read. The note was to the point, logical and precise, but why was Simon’s heart drumming away? He could hear the war cries already. He could hear the cries of loved ones watching as their beloved’s bodies were brought back home. The tears fell before he could stop them.

“Please…don’t cry.”

The softness of Raphael's voice made Simon look up. 

"I’m not.” He protested.

The knight didn't look away. “You are.” He said, in that rigid, but thoughtful way. Simon now recognised it as caution, not anger. 

Simon laughed then, a short, desperate sound, but he grew quiet as soon as Raphael took a step closer. When he looked up again, the knight’s eyes were also filled with tears.

“You’re afraid.” Simon said, before he could stop himself.

It surprised him when Raphael smiled. “I am. Everyone is. But Alec is right. We have time to prepare, and time to plan, so let’s do that." He inclined his head towards Simon, almost shyly. "Use that brain of yours. Look around, we have books, and…you. Your heart, your compassion. Let’s play to our strengths."

The knight's words were simple, but Simon could feel his compassion like an embrace.

Raphael was still staring at him. "Valentine has power, yes, but so do we.” He placed an arm on Simon’s. “Control your fear, but don’t ignore it.”

It was a long while until Simon replied. He waited until the urge to run, or scream, or even foolishly embrace the other man, was gone. He sighed. "Good advice." He said, and then laughed again. "Can I give you some?"

Raphael looked taken aback.

Quickly rushing on - before his brain could catch up and stop him - Simon said, “You don’t have to take on everyone else’s suffering. You can share your own. It’s just me. I want to listen.”

Perhaps it wasn't the best time to try and befriend a knight, but Simon realised how much he wanted Raphael to trust him. If they were going to work together to raise an army, and convince the King and Queen of the threat, they needed a strong bond. Surely. 

So when Raphael smiled, Simon felt relief flood through his body. 

“Thank you.” The knight said, softly. And then he clapped his hands together. “So, how can we get Idris' army to the island? Any ideas?"

"Boats."

"Go on."

"Well..."

~

“Step with your _right_ foot.”

“But the left felt more natural.”

“Then step with your left, but keep it consistent.”

“But surely you want to throw the enemy off, not become predictable?”

Isabelle sighed, but she couldn’t keep the grin away. Training was supposed to be breathtaking, but Clary was making it twice as difficult. As they stood close to their camp for the night, Isabelle tried again, “I agree, but that’s not…proper.”

Clary swung her thin, wooden stick around. Already, she was confident in holding it. “You don’t strike me as someone who obeys the rules. Princess etiquette?” Clary teased.

“Hey. It’s knight etiquette, actually.” Isabelle protested.

“Come on, warrior princess, fight dirty.”

Half-blushing, and half scoffing at the nickname, Isabelle shrugged, spun the stick around and then sighed. “Hm, okay.” She stilled for a moment, and then lunged. The stick was thrust out, but Clary moved quickly, leaping out of the way.

“Impressive.” Isabelle admitted. “But I went easy.”

Clary narrowed her eyes. “Then stop it.” She demanded, and then with a cry, spun around and swung the stick around. Isabelle dived into a roll, quickly pushing onto her feet and turning in time to see Clary lunging wildly again. Her attacks were uncoordinated, and far from elegant, but she attacked like fire, and Isabelle was grinning again.

“Clary….you…..need to….pay attention….” Isabelle said between ducks and dodges. She finished laughing, and decided it was time to stop playing. She gripped the stick in her hands, squared her shoulders and swept the stick in a low arch just above the ground. It hit Clary’s ankles, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her back hit the rocky terrain, but not hard enough that Izzy felt guilty. Well, not terribly so.

Isabelle quickly bent forwards and knelt on the ground, holding her stick parallel to Clary’s torso and grinning. Her knees were on either side of Clary’s thighs, and she ignored the burning heat of how close they were. Her chest was heaving, and so was the other girl’s, and Isabelle couldn’t resist winking.

“Keep that fire going.” Isabelle said, huskily. “It won’t do you much good if you waste it all in one go.”

She quickly rocked back on her heels, offered Clary a hand, and then they climbed back up to their feet together.

“Ready to go again?”

Clary nodded, settling into a stance. This time, she was quiet, and concentrated on controlling her movements. Her swings were still hard, and focused, but she didn’t lash out wildly.

She even knocked Isabelle to the floor after one round.

Isabelle stared up at her, the ground beneath her back. A girl with fire in her eyes, and fire in her heart, peered down at her.

“I’m a quick study.” Clary murmured. She held out her hand. “Let’s go again, princess.”

~

The last time they had set up camp, Magnus had been worried about the griffin they were about to face.

Now, he was faced with countless worries; all of them dangerous and potentially fatal.

There was a war approaching, a fight against Valentine, and a new age dawning that threatened to destroy all of them before it could begin.

He didn’t even realise that Alec had taken a seat beside him by the fire until the prince cleared his throat.

“It’s warm here.” Alec said.

Magnus almost smiled. The prince was charming in his own way, but his conversational skills needed polishing.

“That it is.” Magnus replied. He sent a good-natured smile in the prince’s direction, and then turned back to the flames.

Something came to him then. A reminder.

"Alec!"

The prince jumped with a start. "W-what?"

"Your hand! I need to heal it. Please, let me."

"Oh. Oh, okay."

Magnus cursed himself for not remembering sooner. There had been so much on his mind, but really, Alec's wrist was still at an awkward angle from the fight. Magnus gently unwound the makeshift bandage and took Alec's wrist in his hands, as carefully as he could.

Still, a hiss of pain escaped Alec's lips.

"I'm so sorry. Just a little moment longer." Magnus murmured. He gingerly held the prince's arm, and focused his energy on the break. The bone healed quickly, but he was still holding Alec's wrist in his hands, his fingertips brushing the strong bone beneath. Alec's pulse point was against his thumb, and Magnus listened to the power in its steady beating before slowly lowering it once more. 

"Thank you." Alec said, quietly. He was staring down at his wrist, almost in awe.

Magnus smiled, and turned back to the flames. 

The fire always reminded him of birth. His birth, and his origins. The burning heat of the fire was almost a direct comparison to the demon blood that flowed through his veins. He was part demon, just as he was part human, and fire often recalled strange memories of a home he had never lived in, but feared he was drawn to.

“Is there…something on your mind?”

“My father.” Magnus admitted, without even thinking to lie. 

“Anything like mine?”

“Yours is a saint compared to mine.” Magnus said. It was true. Although Robert Lightwood wasn't the greatest king to ever grace Idris’ throne, he was certainly not the worst. He was weak-willed, and perhaps not the kindest man, but he was not a fallen angel; a wicked reminder that those who fell were born of fire, blood, anger and pain.

“Asmodeus. His name.” Magnus said quietly. The name spilled from his lips almost like a spell. If a name held power, then Magnus really didn’t want to give this one any. At least, not any more than it already had. He expected that a Greater Demon didn’t need a bigger ego than already.

“Have you met him?”

“Once. And very briefly. It was a long time ago, to prove to a princess that I was who I said I was." Magnus grimaced at the memory. "I wanted her love, and all I got was fear in return. It happens when you summon your demon father to dinner, I suppose.”

The bright glow of the flames burned into him, and he could feel his magic respond to it. 

“You’re nothing like him.”

Magnus turned towards Alec, eyes widening. _How did you know I was thinking that?_

As if hearing his thoughts, again, Alec smiled. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s the pressure of being like your parents. Or, trying to distinguish yourself from them." The prince licked his lips, lost in thought, and Magnus followed the movement, on instinct. And then wished that he hadn't. Learning the curve of Alec's full lips would make anyone fall from heaven. Or rise to it. And Magnus didn't want to let himself fall any deeper. 

Oblivious to his desire, Alec continued. "And physically, perhaps, you’re like him. Part demon, I mean, but, Magnus…you’re you.” He said. “You’re human too. Both parts make up…this.” Alec gestured with a loose hand, but he said it with a genuine, happy smile, so Magnus didn’t think it was an insult. In fact, it felt more like a compliment. He listened quietly.

The prince leaned in closer. “You’re stubborn, and clever, and love to do everything with far too much flare.” He snorted. “You know, the whole…” He trailed off, waving his hands through the air. They danced around for a moment, and Magnus grinned.

“Are you…mocking me, Alexander?”

He was laughing now, and Alec was too, although his ears were turning a bright pink.

“No, no, I swear it. The opposite. I just…I don’t think we should be burdened by our parents. Not their mistakes, or their wishes for us.” The prince sighed. “They shaped a future for our lives without asking us. And then we grow up, and maybe…want something else, we have to risk everything.”

Magnus waited patiently. He knew that Alec was speaking about the both of them, and he didn’t find it selfish. It was compassion. Alec was trying to offer his own situation, and see if they could find some sort of solitude in their trust.

Already, Magnus felt the heat of the fire no longer searing, but a gentle flame. It didn’t remind him of hell, or of lost souls screaming at the edges of his nightmares. It reminded him of a steady heartbeat. A flame. A dance. Warmth. Light.

He looked at Alec.

_Heaven._

“Magnus, if I…make my own path, am I breaking their trust? My parents, I mean. Am I giving up my loyalty if I fight for what I want?”

“No.” Magnus promised him gently. “If you open yourself up to it, freedom can change your life. Liberation. Confusion. Uncertainty. They’re all a part of discovering what you want, and why you want it. Trust yourself. Have faith in your strengths, and work on your weaknesses."

He placed a careful hand on Alec's knee, waiting for the first sign of discomfort. When it didn't come, Magnus carried on. "You’re human, not an angel. Even if you look like one.” He winked, unable to help himself.

Alec scoffed, but not dismissively. He ducked his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just say that…how do you…?” He sighed.

Magnus pulled his hand away, placing it in the folds of his robes. 

When Alec spoke again, there was a sadness to his voice. And a harsh edge. “Is this a game to you?" Alec asked, abruptly. "I’ve seen your kindness, and how…you treat everyone so well…but this….is this a way for you to enjoy something new?”

“Alexander.” Magnus whispered. The shock of his words made him flinch back. 

“I’m sorry. I know that sounds…awful, and I know it’s just me overthinking…I do that. A lot. It’s me thinking that I’m not deserving of your attention. Not you being careless...” Alec suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His knee was bouncing up and down, and Magnus desperately wanted to reach out and steady it. Steady him. But he had a feeling that Alec was at war with himself.

Alec turned to face him completely, angling his body around. He took a deep breath. “But…I don’t understand why you’re….saying things like this. To me." His chest heaved, and in the low light, his eyes were dark and intense. 

"Because if it’s not a game, then I have to consider that it might be…”

“Might be what?”

“Real.” Alec whispered, after a long moment. 

Magnus didn’t move. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

Because until now, even mentioning his feelings for Alec seemed like an impossible move. Not in the sense that this was a game that he needed to win, but in a sense that any wrong gesture could truly hurt someone Magnus cared for very deeply.

The differences between them had seemed vast, but now, with each conversation, and smile shared, and time that stretched out before them, Magnus was dismissing this excuse. And it was, an excuse. After all, it was easier to believe that someone was unaware of your emotions. It meant that you could hide. Place walls around your heart and always keep one step behind. Smile, but never for too long. Wink, but always look away first.

“What do you want it to be?” Magnus asked, carefully choosing his words. 

The prince turned away. As he did, his answer was painfully clear.

Magnus was glad for the flames then. He could stare into them and remember why it was dangerous to play with fire. 

“What I want, and what I need, are two very different things." Alec said. There was little emotion in his voice now. If there was, he hid it well. "I have to think about my family. Now, and always. I’d be risking too much by…”

“By what?” Magnus asked, a little angrily now. He knew he shouldn’t, but the hurt was rising, and he couldn’t help but snap. He took a deep breath. “I should take a turn around the camp. I need to earn my money’s worth.” He added, coolly.

He pretended that he didn’t see Alec flinch as he walked away.

~

Alec curled his fists into the log, anything to cling to; rather than leap to his feet and chase after Magnus. He wanted to. By the angel, he wanted to. Very badly. It was every nerve in his body screaming at him to run, run, run. To catch up with the warlock and try again. Express his worries without sounding like a spoiled prince with no consideration for others.

All he had managed to do was offend someone he cared for, and made them believe that they were not worth the hassle.

What could he say?

_Caring about you means defying the stars._

And it wasn’t that Alec was afraid to do so. He felt like, with Magnus by his side, any angel, or demon, could not stop them.

_I’m afraid that I would. I’m scared that I would throw away everything to be by your side._

And there was no way to confess that truth. Not to Magnus. Alec would not give him false hope, only to tear it out. He would not admit his feelings, only to hold it like a noose around Magnus’ neck. He would not be another scar for Magnus to bear.

He could not afford to be selfish.

_Make this easy,_ he begged anyone, or anything that was listening. _Build a fortress around my heart. Cage it. Lock it away. Don’t ever, ever, let it free._

As Alec laid down that night, he closed his eyes, the fire warming his eyelids.

The last, simple thought that haunted him was the worst one of all.

_You’re making a mistake._

~

As soon as they started riding the rest of the journey towards Luke’s village, Isabelle felt the tension.

It was new, and definitely not a result of the new information they’d been given by Clary. That had been surprising indeed, but it was also a life they had been born into. They had been trained and raised in an upbringing that taught war as second nature. It was neither frightening nor unusual.

It was expected, even if it was unusual for the princess to start falling for the villain’s daughter.

As she rode beside Clary, they shared a look. It was short, but transferred the words they were afraid to say. Isabelle smiled gratefully and looked away again. So she had been right. There was something strange in the air. Clary agreed. Isabelle suddenly pinpointed why.

_The silence._

There was usually friendly talk between them all, but something had changed. Magnus was quiet. Too quiet.

Izzy risked glancing over her shoulder, and felt herself freeze in surprise. Her brother was riding beside Jace today, with Lydia and Magnus bringing up the rear of the group with Luciana, their strange, additional member.

She noticed something else. Well, the lack of something. As well as the disappearance of words, and laughter, Alec and Magnus were avoiding even looking at each other.

_Did something happen?_

Isabelle bit her lip to stop from calling out. If she had it her way, she’d take them both to one side and demand that they speak to one another. But she was too familiar with her brother’s ways, and even with Magnus’. They would both find ways to excuse themselves. Especially if they thought they were doing the other one a favour.

_Stubborn and selfless,_ she thought _. A dangerous combination._

Fortunately, the ride to the werewolves’ home was short, and they made it while the sun was still high in the sky above them. It was a gray sky today, covered with clouds. The thick air spelled out a prediction of rain, and Isabelle knew they’d only have a short time to spend with Luke and his pack before heading off. They needed time to find a place to camp.

Guilt struck her then. Isabelle glanced over at Clary. Here she was, worrying about timing, and Clary was about to be reunited with someone she loved. Someone she had been kept from for a long time.

So as they rode into the clearing, the tower still looming in the far corner, Luke and a few members of his pack rushed out to greet them.

Luke stood at the edge of the clearing, his hands hovering by his sides. There was hope in his eyes, and Isabelle felt tears spring to her eyes as he opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Clary let out a gasp.

Firmly gripping the reins, she swung down from her horse, gathered up her dress and ran across the clearing. She was a blur of red hair and wild movement. A woman on a mission.

Isabelle feared for anyone who tried to stop Clary Fairchild in her goals, whatever they were. She watched, still walking their horses on quietly, as Clary raced across the grass and was suddenly throwing her arms around Luke, leaping up with such vigour that her feet left the ground.

Even from a short distance away, Izzy could hear their laughter. Could feel their warmth, their love for each other. She wiped away a tear. Clary was sniffing into Luke’s shoulder, and the Alpha was beaming warmly, his handsome face even more beautiful; lit up by love and joy.

The others reached the reunion and dismounted quietly. Everyone hung back, not wanting to disrupt their moment.

And what a long time this moment had had coming.

Luke’s arms were around Clary’s waist as he embraced her tenderly. He laughed, and it was a breathless, delighted laugh. He pulled back and gently took Clary’s face between his hands. The contrast in size was endearing, and when Clary’s feet found the ground once more, she laughed again.

“I’m so happy to see you.” Clary whispered. Her voice cracked, and Isabelle forced herself not to offer her a word of comfort. This wasn’t her time. Not her moment to play the hero.

“You made me wait long enough.” Luke said with a smile.

“You guarded me. You kept me safe. All this time. Luke…I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was never a choice. I love you, Clary. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t save your brother as well…”

Clary shook her head softly. “No. We won’t linger in the past. Not today. Perhaps we can grieve properly afterwards, but…we have another fight to win. For now, I’m just happy to have you.”

The werewolf smiled kindly. “You will always have me. I know..." He glanced away, hesitating. "I know I’m not your father, and I never tried to force my way into that role, or-“

Clary interrupted him with a gentle laugh. “You are the only father that matters. Luke. You are my father in every other way than blood." She took his hands in hers. "I love you, too. Very much. I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry…for what Valentine did.” She sniffed, reaching up to hug him once again.

Luke pulled away after a moment, taking her hands away from his face. “I…am changed now. I’m not the man who walked to the well with you to collect water. I’m…”

“A werewolf. I know. I heard you, when I was under the spell. I caught conversations, moments, flashes of colour and memory. But I knew what happened, and I also know that you are still the same man. Your eyes are just cooler.” Clary giggled.

“And you’re still my Clary.” Luke ran a forefinger down the tip of her nose, and it reminded Isabelle of a parent seeing their child for the first time; wanting to touch them, hold them, but also being frightened to hurt them.

They leaned into each other, and Isabelle bit her lip again. She wasn’t the jealous type, but their bond was clear. She was also saddened by how unfamiliar the affection was. When was the last time her mother had hugged Isabelle so warmly? When had her father looked at her with kindness, rather than disapproval?

“As touching as this is, we really must be going.” Jace said quietly. He looked apologetically at the pair.

Luke simply smiled. “I understand. Did you get everything you needed at Court?”

“Mainly.” Lydia replied. She also smiled sympathetically. “We really must be going. Soon.”

“Okay.” Luke said, simply. “I’ll fetch a horse.”

No one responded. For a moment, Luke lifted his chin and waited, folding his arms across his chests and looking at the knights in turn.

His dare, his challenge, was clear.

Isabelle asked, calmly, “You wish to join us?”

“Well, I’m not leaving Clary’s side, so you either let me come along, or Clary stays. Or you can ride without me, and I’ll follow on anyway.”

“I can see where she gets the single-mindedness from.” Alec mumbled.

Only Izzy heard him, and she rolled her eyes. “I think it’s sweet.” She retorted.

“Also, there’s a lot I need to know.” Luke hesitated then, his eyes flashing with pain. “Is…your mother…?” He paused, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were shining with unshed tears. “Did Jocelyn….?”

“I don’t know.” Clary replied, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, I…the last I saw, she was telling me to run. But Valentine loved her. Dearly. Even if he’s mad, I have to believe that he loves her enough to keep her alive. There’s a good chance she’s alive, Luke. We’ll find her. Together.”

“I believe you. You always were a little fighter.”

“I’m not that small.” Clary muttered.

“Wait here. I’ll be back, and then we can leave." Luke was already turning, ready to jog across the clearing. "Alaric can take charge while I’m gone, and besides, we need to rally the packs. If we can muster some support, would that be useful?” He asked Alec.

The prince nodded, a look of surprise on his face. “Y-yes. Whatever you can do, we’d appreciate it. It’s not just our lords and ladies that will suffer if Valentine wins. It’s all of us. So, please, gather up your forces.”

Luke inclined his head, and then headed towards the village.

As they waited, Isabelle finally allowed herself to stand beside Clary. She didn’t touch her, but she spoke softly, “How was it?”

Clary turned towards her, and although strands of red hair were stuck to her forehead, her smile was wide. “Everything I’ve been wanting for so long. I missed Luke so much, and now, I feel like part of me can breathe again. Not that…I don’t like you, or trust your friends, but…”

“It’s different. I understand.”

And Isabelle did, understand. She was brimming with joy, simply at seeing Clary's smile again. 

Clary bit her lip, not quite meeting her gaze. “You’re not…frustrated with me?” She asked, almost shyly. 

“For wanting to be close to your family in times like this?” Isabelle asked her. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a lovesick fool. I can share.” She winked.

Clary laughed loudly. She wrapped a hand around her stomach, spreading her hand over her chest. When she looked up, her eyes were wide. “That’s what I felt." She whispered. "When I was asleep. You. That warm feeling….the connection. It’s still there.”

Isabelle felt a frown cross her features. “Did you think it was broken?” She asked. Ever since Clary had awoken, Isabelle had continued to feel the pull. Now, she was worried that it wasn't shared. Had she imagined it?

Thankfully, Clary answered her soon enough. “Yes, but I thought…”

She looked away again. 

After a pause, Isabelle realised why. She gasped. “You thought that it was one-sided? That I didn’t need you in some important way?”

When Clary made no attempt to deny it, Izzy ignored her racing pulse and stepped closer. She reached out an arm and brushed away Clary's hair. She tucked it behind her ear, slowly, and then lifted her chin so that she was looking up at Isabelle.

“We are destined for each other, Clary Fairchild.” Isabelle said. She was smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt. “Not because of a prophecy, or fate’s chance, but because we chose each other. And we are choosing each other again. We chose each other yesterday, and today, and tomorrow. If you want it.”

Clary was flushing, and her dimples were flashing as she smiled back. “Am I really being courted by a princess?”

“And a knight.” Isabelle added. She was still holding Clary's chin, and slowly lowered her hand to her side. Not wanting the moment to end, Izzy tossed back her hair and raised an eyebrow. "So, do you want me to court you?”

After another laugh, Clary shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hm. I think you need to be clearer.”

“Yes! Court me.” Clary blurted out. She placed a hand over her mouth, trying to cover it up, and then laughed. “Please.” She added.

Isabelle found herself smiling again. She was always smiling around Clary. "Then that will be our own private, little quest." She confessed to Clary. "The courting of the princess and the fire maiden.”

Clary's eyes locked firmly onto hers, challenging her to look away first. “Amidst the demons and the wars?”

Isabelle nodded. “We’ll make time. Here and there.”

“Good. I’d like that.”

“You don’t find it strange? That you and I…”

“Are both women?" Clary thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "Between living with sorcerers, finding out your father is insane, and waking from a cursed sleep, courting a princess is hardly worth a gasp in my books.”

The two girls were still grinning, and blushing like fools, when Luke rode across the clearing. Walking beside the horse, was the sharp-eyed werewolf, Maia. She held out fresh water for their wooden holders, and helped them quickly de-stone their horses’ hooves.

Once they were done, Maia announced, “I’m coming with you too.”

“Really?” Alec muttered. “Does anyone else want to join?”

“A dragon would be nice.” Jace offered. 

“ _Jace_.” Alec warned, through gritted teeth.

“She’s strong, a fighter, and can be another pair of eyes.” Lydia said. She came to stand with the group, staring at Alec. “Name one good reason for refusing other than that you don’t like being out of control.”

Alec blinked at her in surprise. “Well….”

“Your Highness, I can make the journey in wolf form." Maia offered. "I can ride close to your group and scout ahead at times." A pleased grin flashed across her face. "Also, my senses are more alert than yours.”

Alec turned his head towards Magnus, and they shared a hesitant look, before Alec turned back to the werewolves. He nodded. “Okay. Please keep up.”

“I was about to say the same.” Maia grinned, sharp and feral.

She was transformed and on the run, her strong legs moving fast over the field, before they were able to hesitate. 

Isabelle took one look at the tower, and then at Clary, who was waiting for her, and then grinned. She was no longer waiting for the girl in the tower. That girl was real, and very much awake now.

Isabelle couldn’t wait to discover the ins and outs of her.

They mounted their horses and left behind the clearing, and the tower, again.

~

Alec was still wallowing in self-pity. And trying to refocus his attention on pretending to appear unaffected. But then he felt the familiar prickling sensation of magic. He didn’t flinch, because the feeling was soon followed by a quiet chuckle.

“Thank you. So…it can kill the demons?”

“That’s right. The only thing that can kill demons is anything touched by the Angels. The magic in the Shadowlands can be sifted through, if you’re powerful enough. Some warlocks can shape it into heavenly weapons. But…it’s a rare gift. I can enhance your weapons, however. It can kill them, but, it has to be a direct hit to the heart, or the head.”

“But…you’re part demon. Forgive me for saying.”

“My father was a fallen angel. I have angel blood…very little, granted, but enough.”

“Thank you.”

“No trouble at all, my dear.”

Alec felt uncomfortable for listening in on the conversation. He felt even guiltier for latching onto, and savouring, Magnus’ voice. His words were gifts that Alec didn’t even realise he was missing until that morning.

The journey to the pack had been almost unbearable. Where was their light conversation? Where was the easy laughter and sharing knowing looks as Jace and Lydia danced around each other?

It took missing Magnus for Alec to realise how comfortable he had been around the warlock.

They had been riding for a short while, but for long enough that Alec was starting to fully understand the weight of their decision. They were journeying towards war. Towards a dark force that was hoping to destroy the world he loved. Valentine wanted the Cup, and he wasn’t afraid to kill as many people to get it. Downworlders, mortals, anyone. He had harmed his own family, after all.

Alec used his anger, wishing it didn’t burn out so easily, but still, he used it. He pushed it into keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. On thinking ahead, and making a mental list of things they needed to do.

_Continue to train Clary._

_Consider the numbers that Valentine might have. How many are in Idris’ army? Count the numbers. Weigh the odds._

_When we set up camp, apologise to Magnus…._

Alec sat up so quickly in his seat that he almost toppled off.

How had that thought so easily snuck into his mind?

He bit his lip, ordering himself to stop thinking about the warlock. To stop imagining things; ignore the heat of Magnus’ eyes burning into his back as he rode.

As soon as they rode into the next section of the forest, Alec quickly let himself focus on the area. It was shadowed by trees, angling in over the top and cutting off most of the sky. It was spacious, but rocky. No one else would stay here, and there was tall grass to hide a fire in.

“Here is a good place to make camp.” He announced.

The others agreed, and began to slow down their horses as they headed into the darkness. It wasn’t oppressively dark, but the shadows cast by the trees seemed to play tricks on the prince’s mind. He imagined them as tall, willowy fingers, tickling the back of his neck. Shivers went down his spine.

“I’ll take first watch.” Jace offered. He grinned at Lydia. “Keep me company?” He asked.

Waiting until Magnus was a safe distance away, and talking to Isabelle, Alec went about his usual routine of gathering the horses together, and then collecting firewood. He passed Luciana and Maia, who were setting up the tents with Clary and Luke. 

Alec was about halfway through picking up a small log at the edge of the clearing when he heard the first sound.

“What was that?” He whispered to himself. He was a short distance away from the camp, and quickly began to walk backwards; keeping his eyes focused ahead. There was nothing in his direct eye line, but after a moment, the sound crackled through the air, louder this time.

Still carrying the logs, Alec drew closer to the camp. Fear was making his heart pound loudly in his ears, but he managed to slow it and steady it, swallowing it down. “I think…there’s something out there.” He said quietly, not wanting to panic the group.

Everyone was instantly alert. Magnus and Izzy leaped up, withdrew their weapons and alerted the others. Luke stood protectively in front of Clary and spoke quietly to Maia, who was still in wolf form, and curled up by the low fire. She climbed to her feet and sniffed in the direction of the outskirts of the clearing. Luciana was cocking her head, listening. 

Alec frowned. All he could still see was shadows, and trees, but his ears were still picking up those sounds. It was like a cry, but not humanlike. And, Alec realised with a growing fear, it wasn’t simply one sound. It was many. It was like a dozen different scratches, or claws, brushing against the trees.

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up even before the first creature came out of the shadows.

“What in the devil’s name are those?”

“You’re not far off.” Magnus muttered. He was suddenly standing beside the prince, and Alec felt his worries fade a little.

The group were standing, watching with their weapons raised as the creatures scurried forwards. They were odd, small beasts, but the sheer number of them horrified Alec. They crept across the clearing, their tiny claws clicking and slicing into the grass. They hissed too. Alec flinched as their long, muscular tails, waved around.

“Ravener demons.” Magnus explained in a hushed tone. “If we stand together, take them one by one, we can win. Get behind me.” He ordered. His expression was in fierce concentration, and he only briefly looked away to nod in Alec’s direction. “Please.”

A laugh suddenly interrupted their focus.

Alec watched alongside the others as a tall, thin woman with a cold smile stepped into the clearing. She wore a raven black cloak that still wasn’t long enough to hide the sharp claws protruding out from beneath the sleeves.

“Bugger.” Magnus muttered.

The woman waved a hand, and the demons scurried a little further forwards. She laughed again, and didn’t bother introducing herself. She didn’t need to. It was clear from the smoking, black tendrils curling across her open palms just who she was. Or rather, what she was.

Her magic wasn’t bright and energetic like Magnus’ blue sparks. The thin woman’s magic was just as powerful, but it didn’t send tingles down Alec’s skin. It sent warnings instead.

“She’s a sorcerer.” Clary whispered. Her eyes were wide, and beside her, Isabelle squeezed her arm in support.

No one spoke again, but they all settled into a loose circle. Magnus was leading, positing himself at the front. Jace, Alec and Lydia took the space just behind him, and Isabelle and Clary stood with Luke. Maia and Luciana were at the back, closing up the circle. They stood outwardly, with their backs to each other as the demons began to circle them.

The trees let out a shudder, and the breeze was crisp and cold as it shook the forest.

“Be ready.” Alec called out.

He felt the group’s tension, but also their strength; their determination.

And then another circle of demons appeared from the shadows, wrapping around the first layer. There were countless of the creatures, all waiting and hissing and circling the group in the middle.

Alec felt the hope begin to get stained with fear. It gripped his chest, splintering his courage with shards of terror.

“What do we do?” Jace asked.

Alec almost winced. When had he ever heard Jace sound helpless before? His friend was always so full of bravery, and even recklessness.

But they were surrounded.

“They’re after Clary, yes?” Alec heard himself ask, in surprise. The logical parts of him were kicking into place, and he shoved the fear away. “He wants her, for the sacrifice. The sorcerer wants to bring her back to the island.”

“He’ll kill you all.” Clary cried. “I can’t let anyone else die because of me…”

“He’s not getting you.” Alec said, stubbornly. “We fight. We don’t give in at the first sign of danger. Look around.”

The group did, just for a moment, at their mismatched, powerful puzzle of a group. Each of them made up the group; knights, werewolves, faeries. They had magically induced weapons, training, and courage. They had a powerful warlock whose palms were already alight with brilliant, blue magic. They had each other’s backs, and the desire to win.

Alec’s sword felt strong in his hands. “We fight.” He repeated, louder this time.

Feeling braver, the prince took a step forwards, side by side with Magnus. He was notching an arrow as he turned towards Magnus, hoping to share a quick moment before the fight began.

But the strange look on Magnus’ face didn’t warm Alec’s heart. It frightened him.

Magnus was smiling, but it was a sad smile.

_“Shadowed fight._ ” The warlock said, quietly. “Remember? This is meant to happen.”

Alec realised immediately what he was referring to. He stared out towards the demons, and the sorcerer waiting to command her army of creatures to attack.

Before Alec could reply, Magnus suddenly shook his head. “I’ll take my own chances against destiny, but I won't take yours.” He said fiercely.

A frown crossed Alec’s forehead. “What do you mean? What are you going to change?”

In the next moment, Magnus reached out and gently took Alec’s face in his hands, his fingertips caressing the prince’s cheeks. His nails scraped slightly, but the touch burned into Alec, and he gasped from the surprise of it. Magnus’ hands were tender and soft, and light, and Magnus’ eyes were mesmerising as they shifted from his true form and back.

Alec felt himself leaning in, and he hovered in the moment, his lips parting slightly. His eyelids fluttered closed.

And then, Magnus dropped his hands and waved them in a deliberate arch. He brought Alec’s hand up to his lips and brushed them across Alec’s knuckles. He kissed the back of his hand and then lowered it slowly.

“Forgive me.” Magnus said softly.

Alec’s heart was in his throat, and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears, swimming around. It drowned out the warning he would hear later, when it was far too late to change anything.

“For what-?”

A strange tumbling fell into Alec’s chest, and when he saw the corners of a purple shimmer in his eye, he turned, and stumbled right into the portal that Magnus had created.

Alec fell forwards, his hands spraying out onto the ground as he re-entered another, familiar clearing. He looked up, and the fear turned to anger, and hurt, and understanding. The dark tower loomed over him once more.

He was back beside Luke’s pack.

“No!” Alec cried. He let out a torn cry, and felt it burn into his throat. He yelled, hitting the ground with his fists. Somehow, he could re-open the portal. If he tried hard enough, perhaps he could cut into the ground itself and tumble through. Return to the group. Not let them perish alone.

When Alaric rushed over, and pulled him carefully to his feet, Alec numbly let himself be forced upright. He was crying, he could feel the tears falling in quick succession. He was silent, but his cheeks were damp, and Alaric was watching him urgently.

“Your Highness…?”

As he was led back into the camp, Alec squeezed his eyes closed and ignored the burning sting. He was lost in the adrenaline still, but now there was anger, and pain. It barely lasted. It disintegrated before he had even stepped into the village.

How could he be angered by Magnus’ actions? When, if he had the power himself, wouldn’t Alec do the very same? Wouldn’t he save his friends, take away the chance that they would be hurt?

_Magnus was protecting me. Just like he promised._

The memory suddenly hit him with a force like none other. _Magnus cupping his face, gently. Magnus, smiling and whispering, asking for his forgiveness. Magnus’ warm lips against the back of his hand._

“Your Highness, were are you going?”

“Back.” Alec said, simply. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but he cleared his throat. “I’m going back. I need a horse. Please.”

He was moving without realising it. Choosing his path. Making a stand. 

Alaric frowned, but didn’t ask for clarification. Every little moment in Alec’s mind was appearing, again and again. He could feel it again; feel everything. There was the sound of Magnus’ laugh as he smiled at Alec. There was the warlock’s tender looks, and the hurt in his expression when he had walked away last night.

As he swung his foot into the stirrup, and nodded in quick thanks to the werewolf, Alec clicked his teeth and let out an urgent cry. The horse jolted into action, pounding across the field and heading in the direction of the others.

Alec forced himself to remain alert, but all he really knew was that he was caught between lost and found.

Was it a possibility that Magnus cared for him? In a stronger sense than friendship?

All Alec knew was that his heart was breaking. All at once, it was bending, bleeding, and knotting itself back together.

Magnus wanted to save him, but the prince knew that he needed to be there. This was a fight they had to win, together. As greatly as he understood, Alec needed to rush back. There was no way he was letting his friends, his family, fight alone. This was his choice.

And then, if he lived, Alec decided something.

With absolutely certainty, he was going to find out what was growing between himself and Magnus. No more hiding around it.

He was going to be brave.

And, hopefully, make it in time to save the man his heart cried out for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTION TIMEEEEEEEE.  
> Lots of malec, clizzy, and plot development! Hope you enjoyed it! :)  
> Let me know which parts you liked, it's great to hear from you all!


	13. All This And Heaven Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I've had a busy couple of weeks with uni work, so i wanted this chapter to be perfect before uploading (which I hope it is, or close xD).  
> Essay deadlines are coming up, so again, updates will be less frequent, but this fic is still very much continuing, and I will update whenever I can :)  
> Fic playlist can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> The title for this chapter comes from the Florence and the Machine song, and it's very appropriate for this chapter :)  
> Happy reading!

_Goodbye, Alexander. I hope to see you again._

Magnus thought those words, sadly, as he watched Alec tumble into the portal. As it closed up, Magnus felt his hands reach up, almost on instinct. Was he trying to change his mind? Did some secret, hidden truth in his heart want Magnus to pull Alec back at the last moment?

He wanted to fight beside Alec. He really did. That was true. A stronger part - too powerful to deny - was urgingMagnusforwards onto another path. It was with final determination that he sent Alec back through a portal, to the werewolf pack they had left earlier that day.

_You can regret your actions later,_ Magnus told himself firmly.

Right now, they had bigger problems.

Problems in the form of countless demons surrounding them, their claws clicking sharply as they hissed.

Although they were a less powerful species, they had strength in numbers. Magnus had good faith in the group’s skills. He believed in them. However, he took one long glance at the sorcerer and realised that unless he removed the threat of her magic, they wouldn’t survive the night.

He risked a small glance to his right, catching sight of Jace and Isabelle. He almost froze. Whatever expressions he had been expecting, and whatever emotions he had been afraid to see, were gone. Fearing the anger he had anticipated, Magnus blinked in surprise. Instead, the two knights looked grateful, despite their grim smiles. Jace was focused, staring straight ahead, but when his eyes glanced over to where the portal had stood, and his friend, moments before, a flash of pain crossed his features.

Magnus winced. Had he just separated two best friends? And worst of all, had he torn two warriors away from parts of their souls?

He knew that Alec and Jace were closer than blood, but Magnus was realising the consequences of his actions, the foolishness of his compassion. Still, he shook his head free from worry – because Alec, the heir, his friend, the one he would protect, now and always – was safe. Magnus could keep that thought in his mind, and in his heart. It would help to soften the fear.

He would rather apologise to the prince than stand over Alec’s grave.

“Keep in a circle. At least, as closely as you can. Let them come to you, and hold your ground.” Magnusinstructed.

No one in the group had time to protest, or agree anyway.

The demons lunged.

Time blurred around them as weapons swung and sliced, and demon after demon was cut down. Magnus sent waves and waves of magic out across the clearing, switching to fire occasionally to send the demons scuttling back.

It only bought them a few long moments, but the group would press together, closer, and catch their breath. He lunged with his hands, the gestures elaborate. They did little to help, but the movements grounded Magnus. It gave him a rhythm to fight to, and a dance to step in time to. His magic was alive and stirring inside his blood. It was a fire boiling beneath his skin, and every demon he killed gaveMagnusan odd, intense feeling of anger, pain and fear.

These creatures were nothing like him, and yet, they were from the same place. Magnus looked into their small, black beady eyes and saw his own, bright and liquid gold, reflected back. He growled, sending out another massive pulse, the magic rippling like a circle out into the clearing.

Maia and Luke were in wolf form, tearing into the demons and sending spurts of black ick into the air. They were careful not to let the pincers stab into them. Demon venom was dangerous, but not fatal, however to downworlders, it affected them faster.

Luciana had obtained a long, curving sword, and was hacking at the demons with an ethereal grace of a faerie warrior. She swung, weaving a little further out than the others, but Magnus could see from her light steps and lethal fury that the demons could not stand a chance. She was as swift as she was accurate.

A demon almost caught Jace in the arm, but Magnus was quick enough to throw up a hand and freeze the demon mid-air before ripping it apart with his magic. He sent it flying into the air, away from the gasping knight.

“Thanks.” Jace breathed out.

Magnus nodded in response.

“We need to do something.” Isabelle cried out. She was fighting beside Clary, positioning herself a little closer to the demons so that Clary had fewer demons to slay. They looked exhausted, and Magnus wanted to find some way to share his magic, his energy, with them. Although he too was tired, he knew his magic would last for a while longer. The knights were strong and brave and gifted, but they could not last an entire night – which seemed to be what the sorcerer wanted them to realise.

Magnus realised with sickening fear that she still hadn’t moved. The tall, thin, cloaked woman was simply observing, watching the group fend off the countless demons. Her long talons rested against her thighs, anticipating a sign of trouble.

Again, another round of the small beasts attacked, and Magnus refocused. His mind grew numb after a while, the kills becoming achingly repetitive.

This carried on for so long. Exhaustion was settling into his bones, and he was sure the others felt it too. Something had to change. The pieces on the board had to move. The demons kept coming. Either they would have to take a risk, and break formation, so that Magnus could try to stop the sorcerer’s control, or they would have to continue to wait it out.

Soon, the sun was going to appear. There would be light, but it didn’t matter. Magnus didn’t feel hopeful. He knew what he was going to have to do. He was going to have to cut a path, and then leave the group, not being able to look back and save any of them.

“Magnus, it’s okay. Go.” Lydia yelled.

He didn’t say anything. The group sensed his hesitation.

“We can fight them off.”

Luciana was suddenly close. “I can go with you. I can cut a path quicker than anything. She won’t have time to properly prepare. You’ll have the advantage.”

“But-“ If he took Luciana with him, the others would be considerably weakened.

But he had to make a choice. Soon.

_What would you want me to do, Alec? Save your friends by risking their lives as well? Or wait it out and hope?_

Unlike with other battles, Magnus couldn’t take the risk. He thought of Jace’s smirks, Isabelle’s strength and fire, and the group’s desires for change and hope. In their journey together, he’d desperately tried not to care, but as always, his heart won out.

How could he leave them even for a few moments?

They would live together, or die together.

For a split second, Magnus wished that he could see Alec one last time. He’d cupped the prince’s face, anchoring it into his memory. For as long as he lived – or as short – Magnus knew he would be tracing Alec’s cheekbones with his fingers in those last moments. He would be remembering eyes that shone with hazel light. He would remember gentle laughter, shy hope and a prince becoming a king who believed in himself.

Longing struck him then. Magnus urged the emotions to churn in his gut, fuelling his magic. He had done this recently, while fighting the griffin. He had concealed the details from Alec, afraid to frighten him with the strength of his emotions, but Magnus had used the memories between them, and the simple picture of Alec in his mind, to strengthen his magic. He had captured the creature with ease, holding it, but the tenderness in his heart had spilled out into the air around them, making him tremble all over.

Magic was unique to all who bore it, but to Magnus, a man with an unyielding hope, he let it fill his heart with every emotion. He threw everything into it. Fear. Hope. Anger. The strength of love he had felt from others, and perhaps, the powerful wish for a love that he wanted; desired in the future.

The air was thick with the scent of ichor, as demon energy spilled out of the creatures. It was rarely fatal to any kind, but if it slipped beneath an open wound, there was often trouble. The coiled tails were the biggest threat, ready to snap out and pierce soft flesh at any moment.

Magnus sent another wave out, sending the demons flying through the air. This time, however, a few slipped past, still lunging for the group. Maia tore into one, and Luciana sliced at the other, but still, it was a weakness that Magnus cursed himself for. He was carrying on, but the toll of the long evening battle was finally stretching his limits.

“Magnus, you can stop this. Only you.” Clary called out. She was holding herself well, her training with Isabelle and Alec proving itself to be life-saving. Still, her hands were slick with sweat as she gripped the sword hilt.

“You have to.” Jace cried in agreement. He nodded once, and there was tension in his jaw, but determination in his eyes.

Unwillingly, Magnus sighed as he straightened. He was going to have to cut a path as quickly as possible, and then savour enough energy, and magic, and wit, to fight and defeat the sorcerer waiting on the other side of the clearing.

“I-“

He broke off. What could he say to the group? Apologising suggested that their fate was already sealed. If he looked regretful, the group were going to lose their spirit, and their courage.

Magnus had faith, and he poured every ounce of hope into one final, flashing grin. “Try not to miss me, my dears.”

He turned towards the sorcerer. A swarm of demons separated them, but as Magnus narrowed his eyes, the pathway became clear. In his mind, he could see it easily. All he needed to do was part the demons with his magic. It would take a great deal of energy, especially without backup, but he was ready. He just needed to save enough strength to fight the sorcerer.

_Who has all her energy still left._

Magnus cursed himself for remembering that. Doubt would not help now. He needed to be brave. He lifted his chin, stood up taller and let the magic build in a pulsing ball of vibrant blue. It swirled between his hands, shaped into a glowing circle as he felt the power build and build.

As he rooted his feet firmly to the ground, ready for the odd sensation of resistance that powerful magic created, Magnus took a deep breath. He wanted a moment, but he couldn’t risk it; not even to say goodbye. It was then, that he realised, with odd certainty, and a mixture of pride and sorrow, that he would not survive taking down the sorcerer. Not after being weakened to create the path to her.

Magnus only hoped that it would be worth it; that the group could survive, and fend the demons off. Alec was safe. At the very least, he had protected the prince until his last moments. He would die defending that promise, and that tugged a smile from his lips again.

_Here goes._

The sun wasrising, the demons were still scuttling and lunging, and the group’s movements were becoming slower, and weaker. Magnus locked his eyes onto the sorcerer, building up his anger. It made his magic spark and dance. He let it press against his ribcage, sparking up into his throat, until he felt his eyes wereablaze. If anyone looked directly at him, Magnus wondered if his golden eyes would burn them. They certainly felt like fire. If it was possible to-

Sudden tremors shook them all. They came abruptly, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Even the demons halted, and the sorcerer finally stepped forwards. It was just a step, and her eyes scanned lazily over the clearing, but it was a sign that she was startled.

The tremors were in a pattern. Magnus strained to hear them, but there was a rhythm to them, almost like they were caused by something approaching.

Or, _many things._

As Magnus – still with his hands cupping the magic sphere – tilted his head to the right, the tremors turned into footsteps. Trees to their left whisked the wind around like knives. He gasped.

A strange miracle happened then. A strange, wonderful, impossible thing.

“Alec!”

The demons scurried to turn around, now facing outwards like the group. The sorcerer turned, and they followed her movement, connected to her. They were all rooted into place, ironically linked together.

They all watched as a dozen werewolves come hurtling into the clearing. In the front, and clearly leading, was a man atop a horse with his bow raised, and his lips pressed together. Hazel eyes and dark, tousled hair, stole Magnus breath, and he watched as the man riding into the clearing, surrounded by the pack – who Magnus recognised as Luke’s – cantered towards them.

When the first werewolf tore into a demon, the group unfroze. As did the sorcerer. She swept her hands up angrily into the air, and the demons attacked once again, this time, half facing the circle, and half rushing off to face the new arrivals.

A new wave of energy warmed the early hours of the morning. Seeing their friend, and prince, Isabelle and Jace stood taller, proud smiles on their faces. Lydia and Luciana were back to back, and Maia and Luke were beside Clary as they worked in a careful move of swings and cuts to bring down the creatures.

The prince’s arrows flew into the clearing. His aim was true and accurate, piercing demons quickly, and moving along. With the help of the wolves, Alec was quickly making a pathway to their circle, trampling the small creatures and weakening their numbers considerably.

Magnus was back to fighting off those closest to him. The sorcerer, in the distance, had slipped out of her cloak, and was pacing as she watched. Even from afar, her pale face was drawn and tense, and her long claws scratched along the rocks.

The prince was closer, and Magnus watched him carefully, taking out any demon that dared to lunge in his direction.

The werewolves were agile and strong. They kept close to the prince’s horse, guarding him, and Magnus felt sheer relief flood into his body. Alec had returned. Although he ought to be afraid once again, this time, all Magnus felt was pride, and surprise. If Alec was with the werewolf pack, and they had made it back in such good time, then the prince must’ve decided right away. As soon as he stepped through the portal, he didn’t hesitate to turn back around.

More importantly, his expression was focused, not anxious to dive himself into the fray.Alecwas confident and powerful, and Magnus was almost trembling by the time he pulled his thoughts back to the present.

Because of his distraction, Magnus didn’t see one of the slightly larger demons lunge for him.

Its tail curled dangerously close to his ear, but thankfully, it never made contact, because Alec had leaped from his horse and dived towards him. Pushing him firmly to the ground, Magnus felt his back greet the soft grass, and the rocky surface beneath, with a wince. He was blinking in surprise, and then suddenly very aware that the prince was laying on top of him, his hazel eyes wide, and his lips parting slightly.

His brain was working enough to catch Jace slicing the demon in half, removing the threat that had almost injured Magnus. The warlock was gasping, and Alec’s chest heaved. The muscles in his forearmsbrushedMagnus’ cheeks as he fell on top of him. Alec was solid, but warm, and Magnus was glad for the chaos echoing around him, hiding his soft groan inside the noise.

He opened his eyes and saw Alec. Nothing but Alec. The prince stared down at him, a few strands of his hair falling into his bright eyes.

“Hi.” Alec whispered. His lips were pink and so close to Magnus’.

However, the casual greeting was enough to pull Magnus back to the present. The very violent, dangerous present. Thankfully, Jace and Lydia were covering for them. Magnus quickly sat up, and Alec pulled back in response, helping Magnus up by the elbows. His grip was gentle, yet firm, and he never once glanced away.

Magnus grinned, unable to help himself. His pulse was drumming inside his ears, and the strong beat of it in his throat was reminding him that he was _alive, alive, alive._

Magnus waited until Alec had pulled him back onto his feet, held onto his arm for a second, and then cocked his head to the side. “Hello, Alexander. Couldn’t stay away?”

Alec gaped, and then a brilliant, unashamed smile covered his handsome face. “No.” He admitted.

Another wall around Magnus’ heart tumbled down.

The prince’s smile faded, just a little. “Can we rearrange flirting?” He asked, withdrawing his sword and balancing it with confidence. He had abandoned his bow, looping it around his shoulder. After all, it was no good for close combat. Even Magnus had enough experience with weapons to know this.  

_Alec wanted to flirt with me._

He corrected himself. _Alec_ ** _wants_** _to flirt with me._

His cheeks suddenly felt very warm. In the midst of the battle raging around them, Magnus smiled. He was blushing. How innocent, and hopeful, such a gesture was; a response to a man who had returned to fight beside him.

A demon scuttled on the floor towards Alec, but Magnus blasted it away.

“Thank you.” He grinned again. There was a playfulness to it now, a confidence.Alecsliced three demons in a row, and then beamedacrossat the warlock. “Are we keeping count?”

“I will now.” Magnus promised with a wink. He suddenlyfelt the strength of hismagic come hurtling back. The group were working together, in a loose circle now, the werewolves still tearing around the clearing.

He started to build up his sphere again, but Alec placed a hand on his arm. “What do you need?” He demanded.

Magnus didn’t hesitate. This was a fight. They didn’t have to time to hide the truth. “I need to cut a path to her.”

“Okay.” He said simply. “Let’s go.”

“Alec-“

“You can’t argue. I mean, you could, but…” Alec gestured to the creatures. His expression shifted. “I have your back, Magnus. I promise.”

Magnus let himself nod, reluctantly, but also knowing that it was the right thing. “I know.” He said, and his answer was clear.

Putting aside his worries, Magnus knew that this was the right course of action. Alec was a strong fighter. They were matched evenly. Together, they could cut a path to the sorcerer and still save enough of Magnus’ strength to fight.

He nodded, and then they began.

It was all over before Magnus had time to even fear for their lives. The demons scattered around them. Some of the small beasts were confused, giving the pair time to cut them down. Others leaped at them, but Magnus deflected them, or Alec swung his sword in a fierce arc and sliced them cleanly down the middle.

Magnus sent one final blast of magic out, and the path was clear.

He only had a moment to stand in front of Alec, shielding him, before the sorcerer had started her first assault. Her magic was the colour of smoke, of burning and ash and the soot that collected at the bottom of a fireplace. It was ugly and gave off the aroma of pungent charcoal. It was like soot resting in the back of his throat.

Magnus almost choked on the darkness that threatened to send him reeling backwards.

Instead, he fought back, rippling his own magic towards the woman in return.

And thus, the dance begun.

Magnus had only fought a handful of sorcerers before, but they were selfish and impulsive. Despite their power from draining energy, they relied too heavily on the magic itself. This sorcerer in particular was greedy. She lashed out with sudden pulses of magic, but she didn’t care to calculate the true aim. Magnus flicked his wrists, lazily meeting them so that their attacks simply dissolved into each other.

Behind him, he could see hear Alec biding him time, and hacking away at the demons, who were still coming after the pair.

With a quick glance to his right – and he concealed it with a burst of blue flames to mislead the sorcerer’s eyes – Magnus noticed the few werewolves starting to approach. They circled warily, still tearing into the final demons who were left.

It was only then that Magnus realised how few there were that still remained. Or perhaps, he thought, they had scattered. After all, he was fighting the sorcerer, and she couldn’t hold her control over the demons as well as defend herself.

Encouraged, and hopeful, Magnus surged forwards, spinning around and leaning forwards on his bent knee. He pushed both of his hands upwards, and reached into his chest – at where his power was overflowing with nervous energy – and groaned as the magic flew forwards. It sent him gasping, but the sorcerer was hit directly in the chest, and her long claws clutched herbreastas she keeled over.

It was a dance, a battle of careful movements and chaotic hands, but Magnus felt confident now.

He nodded once to the werewolves. They circled closer.

Alec’s movements had grown less frantic as well. The sound of his sword cutting the air was still loud, butinfrequent. Magnus could also hear his breathing becoming less laboured.

Magnus’ knees threatened to give way. He hissed, taking another deep breath. _Just a little while longer,_ he told himself. _Hold out._

The sorcerer suddenly laughed. The sound was so startling, and jarring, that Magnus took a step back.

She smiled in victory. “You think you’re winning.” She screeched, and the unearthly gravel in her voice made the hairs on Magnus’ arms stand up. “It doesn’t matter. You can never win. Not against him. He will cleanse the world of your kind, bathe in your blood, and cut down your children while they cry.”

She laughed again, manic. The wild look in her eyes was terrifying. A nail curled in their direction, flicking out like a snake's tongue. “ _You_ …will lose more than your pride in this war.” She was staring directly at Magnus, and he felt an odd prickling sensation of dread in his torso.

A whistling went by his ear, and Magnus flinched as an arrow lodged itself within the sorcerer’s spleen. She stared at it, her pale lips forming a cold smile, and then she laughed again. She was still laughing as the blood trickled out of her lips. “Fools.” She hissed. “This is only just the beginning.”

Alec was suddenly beside him, another arrow notched and aimed at the sorcerer. “Be quiet.” He commanded, and the trembling anger in his voice surprised Magnus.

The last of the demons were scurrying away, abandoned by their dark mistress. Some of the werewolves chased them, but most remained to finish off the ones that hadn’t quite been killed.

“Besides,” The sorcerer glanced away from them, just ahead, and it took Magnus a long moment to realise she was looking at where the group were. Or, at least, where Magnus hoped they still were. “, I can report that we’ve found the girl. You cannot hide her-“

The sorcerer choked. Although blood was still dribbling down her lip, and although her magic was draining – she was clearly, Magnus had decided, at least a few centuries younger than he was – he knew that she wouldn’t die. Not without something more…permanent.

Still, he felt uneasy to slaughter her. _Remember, she has killed warlocks. And downworlders. She will kill more._

Suddenly, the sorcerer let out a blood-curling cry. She conjured up a shadowy ball in her hands, lifted her arms over her head and swung forwards to cast the blast of magic in their direction.

It would’ve hit Magnus directly in the chest. Or Alec. Perhaps both.

It would’ve injured Magnus very badly, and likely killed Alec, but the werewolves flew forwards and dived onto the sorcerer.

She was buried beneath fur and growls, and her body ceased its shaking as soon as Magnus heard the loud, cracking snap. The pack hid the sorcerer’s unmoving body from view, but Magnus trusted them enough to let himself hunch over. He held hisabdomenand sighed. If only there was a way to magic away the exhaustion he always felt after using so much magic. So much concentration.

A strong arm was wrapping around Magnus’ waist, and before he knew it, Alec was peering into his eyes, kneeling over. His hazel eyes were filled with worry, and his lip trembled even after he caught it between his teeth.

“Are you hurt? Magnus…how can I help? Tell me. D-do you need my strength again?” Alec opened his palm, holding it up to the warlock. “Take it. As much as you need. Please. Magnus, _please_.”

Magnus sighed in defeat. “Only a little.” He murmured, and wrapped his hand around Alec’s. Although the prince’s energy was filled with fear and terror, there was an excitement that bubbled to the surface. As Magnus slowly, and carefully, regained a little strength, he marvelled at the prince’s new form.

He had new _colours_ , almost. It was as if Alec had dipped his brush into a new paint, or discovered how to sing after living in a voiceless world. Magnus could feel Alec’s eagerness, his new energy. It made Magnus hunger for more as soon as he let go, reluctantly, of the prince’s hand.

He opened his eyes, and Alec was still there; still holding him up and smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“We did it.” Magnus said, quietly.

Alec nodded, his lips tugging into a quick smile. “Yeah.”

Magnus looked away. “Alec, I’m sorry-“

_“No!”_

They were interrupted as a cry tore through the air. Unlike the sorcerer’s, which had been swept in a storm of glee and rage, this scream was anguished. It was pained and hurt.

Magnus was tearing across the clearing, beside Alec, without needing to hear another moment. The heavy footfall of the werewolves, as they ran beside them, was like the sound of soldiers marching. It was like a death call.

Before them, the group of knights and warriors were kneeling, circling a fallen figure on the ground.

As they approached, they caught bits of the conversation; raised voices, urgent whispers, tear-stricken faces.

“I don’t know! I didn’t realise she…”

“There’s no wound!”

“I don’t know- Magnus!”

Isabelle looked up first, seeing their approach. She was crying, and quickly made a space for them to see.

Magnus ran up, bracing himself to take in the sight.

It was a tragicone. Jace was cradling Lydia’s head in his lap, and was holding back quiet sobs. “She…just fell. I didn’t…I took her eyes off her for one second, I swear. It was just for a moment. I’m sorry…” He looked down at her, bringing up her hand. He rested his forehead against her fist. “Don’t go.”

Magnus knelt beside him, and reached out, realising the problem as soon as his magic felt the darkness within Lydia's veins. “Demon venom can be toxic. Especially if it seeps into the bloodstream.” He pointed carefully at the small wound above Lydia’s wrist. “But,” And he made sure to keep his voice calm. “, it doesn’t often kill. If she makes it until tonight, she’ll live, and she is strong. She is young. She will make it.”

Jace's lip was still trembling. “But?”

Everyone was watching him, waiting. Magnus bounced on his knees, sighing. “She will hallucinate and…have nightmares." He warned them softly. "The demon venom comes from another realm. It was never meant to be in your blood. It will fight with her.” He gazed down at the young woman. Already, her eyes were blinking rapidly. She looked over their shoulder, out of focus, already lost in the dream. 

“She’ll make it.” Jacemurmured.

Isabelle smiled. “Of course she will.” There wasn't a moment's hesitation in her voice. She helped Jace to liftLydiainto his arms, and her head sunk against his chest. She was only shaking lightly, but Magnus knew it would get much worse later.

“We have to move." He addressed the group. "I’m sorry, but we can’t stay here. The traces of our energy are too strong for me to remove. I’m...weakened." He hated admitting that. He sighed. "Just for a short while, until we can find a new place for camp. But…we’ll have to take a setback. A slower journey. If you rush her recovery, you might end up killing her.”

Everyone nodded, already starting to head over to the horses, or what remained of their supplies. 

Luke had his arms around Clary's waist, checking for any signs of injury. 

Isabelle smiled, but it was a tense smile. “We’ll load up.” She promised, and headed away. 

Magnus wasbeginning to feelstronger now, thanks to Alec, and the end of the fight. The night was over, and their casualties were few. One of the werewolves, Alaric, had injured his leg, and Lydia was already starting to moan in her slumber, but they were safe. They were alive. They would live to see another day, as well as fight to help save other lives.

Everyone was gathering up the supplies, unfolding the tents, and making sure the horses were unharmed.

Magnus stepped into the clearing, pacing a bit up and down, feeling for any approaching dark energy. He couldn’t feel any, but he still couldn’t relax. He walked further to the edge, and was almost stepping into the forest, when he heard someone call out.

“Hey.”

“Alexander.” Magnus greeted, pleasantly surprised. He let himself gaze at the prince, at his messy hair, his full lips, and the way his eyes refused to look away first. He practically bounced over as well, his chin lifting higher than usual.

“Everything okay?”

“I was going to ask the same.”

“Oh?”

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, but although he was smiling bashfully, Alec didn’t look shamed by it. It was similar to the smile he had given during the fight; when he had tackled Magnus away from the demon. It was a smile that didn’t try to hide itself. The prince simply stared, not making a show of moving.

“You look…different.” Magnus finally allowed himself to say. He waited for Alec to blink, or turn away; to mumble an apology and shrug it off.

Instead, Alec smiled. “I feel different.” He said. There was a confident edge to his words now. And less stuttering, Magnus realised.

_What did you decide on the way back, Alec?_ He wanted to ask, but wasn’t quite brave enough to.

He was thinking about what had happened between them. Their heated talk by the fire, the hurt, the anger, and the disappointment too. The bitterness of rejection, of being misunderstood, stung Magnus, even though he knew that Alec’s words were driven by internal conflict.

The prince was unsure of himself, and scared to fight it. He lashed out because he didn’t voice his feelings well, but slowly, Magnus had watched as Alec grew and grew, both as a prince, a good man, and a fighter.

He was thinking about cradling Alec’s face in his hands, and that awful ache at memorising what could’ve been the last time he’d see Alec. In this lifetime, at least.

“I’m sorry.” Alec’s voice cut through the silence. There was no hesitation anymore, just a focus, a concentration that Magnus had to admit he found desirable. “For what I said by the fire. You don’t toy with people’s feelings. That’s not the kind of man that you are.”

Magnus swallowed. Usually, words danced around in his mind. He could pluck them and spin them, weaving them into poetry and laughter and clever expressions. But he looked up at Alec, and the words slipped from his mind. He waited.

“You’re special, Magnus. I mean, you are, in general, and to a lot of people I’m sure, but I mean…to _me_.”Aleccleared his throat. “You’re important to me. I wanted you to know that, because I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to.”

A soft sensation was settling in Magnus' stomach. It felt like a feather was tickling his insides. He wanted to laugh, in astonishment and delight. Alec's words were things he had longed for, perhaps without letting himself. Now that he was hearing them, he felt speechless. "What are you saying?” Magnus asked. He almost winced at how weak his voice sounded. And why could his fingers not stop tapping against his thighs?

The prince sighed. “I don’t know.” He replied. It was followed by a laugh that broke down what was left of Magnus’ walls. They tumbled down as the prince looked up, his smile wide and happy as his shoulders shook with laughter.

Magnus only realised he was laughing too when his fingers stopped tapping. They relaxed, and Magnus relaxed too. It felt strange, this happiness.

Alec sobered. He gazed across. “What I do know, is that when you sent me through that portal…all I wanted to do was run back until I was back by your side. To fight with you.”

The honesty of Alec’s words, the rawness of emotion in his quiet voice, was not lost on Magnus. He turned the words over, again and again.

Carefully,Magnussaid, “I didn’t mean to take away your agency.” He met Alec’s eyes, catching the surprise at the apology. But Magnus had been thinking about it, and if they were sharing and opening up, he knew this needed to be addressed. “I am sorry, Alec. Truly. I was frightened that the prophecy could put you in serious danger. You’re Idris’ prince. I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“You saved me…because I’m the heir?”

“Yes.” Magnus’ lips twitched. “And no. Both.” He decided, toying with his ear cuff.

Alec snorted with laugher. “Are warlocks always this cryptic?”

“I was being coy.” Magnus grinned. He let his tone become playful, his hips circling a little, but he still kept the slight distance between them. For now. “Yes, I saved you because you’re the prince of Idris. You’re needed to help unite us all, and you can’t do that if your pretty face is dead.” He smiled warmly. “But, I care about you, too. I was afraid that I couldn’t protect you. I was being selfish. I wanted to save someone I care for.”

“Oh.” Alec murmured, almost as realisation. He didn’t sound shocked by it, and Magnus was pleased. He had never hidden his feelings from Alec, or his flirtations, and he was glad that the prince was accepting them, rather than deflecting his emotions.

He was pushing past the insecure parts of himself that suggested it was a trap. Magnus could sense it, the eagerness to start again, to change.

“One question.” Alec began.

“Anything.” Magnus promised. He took a step closer.

“When?”

He waited, but when Alec didn’t carry on, he realised that was it.

“When what, Alec?”

“When did you…uh, see me?”

Magnus smiled in understanding. 

“I have always seen you, Alexander. I don’t see how anyone couldn’t.” He reached up a hand, slowly, and ran the back of his hand against Alec’s cheek. He grazed his skin, hot to the touch. “You _shine_.” Magnus murmured.

Alec smiled, leaning into the touch. He pushed into it, slowly, and drawing in a slow breath. His long lashes unfurled slowly, and his smile was lazy, relaxed. “I always thought Jace was the golden one. The one everyone looked to.” He didn’t say this angrily, just a little sadly. “Or Izzy. They’re much more, well, shiny.”Aleclaughed again, but it was hiding the emotion.

“Perhaps on the surface.” Magnus said, thoughtfully quiet for a moment. “I say this with the greatest respect to the both of them, but you, Alexander, are a marvel. Inside and out. I’ve never seen anyone quite like you before, mortal or otherwise.” He let his finger drift lower, gently resting against the prince’s upper lip.

He observed him quietly. He dared himself to push forwards again.

“I’d be a fool not to chase you, you know.”

Alec considered this, regarding Magnus with an unreadable look. “I…want you too." He finally replied. He swallowed, and Magnus' heart began to race. "I’m not saying no, I mean. I don’t want you to…stop. I like...this.” He made a vague gesture with his hands, pointing between them, and Magnus forced himself not to smile. “It scared me at first, but…I want to try.”

Magnus’ heart was brimming. There was no other way to describe it. He hadn't felt this alive in a long time. 

“Okay.” He said, slowly, because saying anything else would reveal too much. "I-"

“We’re all set!” Isabelle called out from across the clearing. The group had arranged the horses together, and were – Magnus assumed - thanking the werewolves for their assistance.

They turned, already halfway back, and Alec fell into a natural step beside him. Magnus cast his eyes down, but he tilted his head, just enough to see Alec’s hands swinging naturally by his sides.

“You kissed me.”

Magnus paused, mid-step. For a moment, he was confused, but then the memory came back.

“Uh, my hand, I mean. Why?”

The prince was regarding him slowly, and Magnus shifted so that they were face to face again. No more hiding, he’d told himself. In a way, he was glad. The situation still felt…loose. Untied. It needed to be understood, for the both of them.

“You didn’t like it?” Magnus murmured.

Alec didn’t take the bait. He smiled, slightly shy. “No, I did. Well,” He laughed. “, in the short time I had to process it, yes. But…why?”

Still, the prince was anxious. He didn’t believe that Magnus could be falling for him, and that not only saddened the warlock, but angered him. It was an anger directed towards a society that favoured fear over feelings. That welcomed violence and strength, but not the soft, brilliant joy of compassion and love.

Again, he chose his words carefully. “I wanted to.” Magnus said, simply. “For a moment, I thought it might be my only chance. I had no idea how powerful the sorcerer was. I could have…”

_Been destroyed._ He didn’t voice his fears out loud, and he certainly didn’t want Alec to feel burdened by them.

“I was memorising you.” Magnus finished quietly. “In case…” He broke off.

“In case you fell in battle.” Alec finished for him.

Magnus nodded, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “It happens. Sometimes.”

“Not if you don’t send me away again.”

There was a desperation in Alec’s voice now. Magnus looked up and his chest ached at the longing, the fear, in the prince’s eyes. They softened when Magnus looked up, sensing the remorse he felt.

“I’m not angry.” Alec said softly. “I understand. If…if I had your gifts, I might have done it too.” He admitted. “But please, Magnus, promise me that from here on out, we decide. Together, we make the decisions. Not you, or I. Us.”

_Us._

Magnus was beaming as soon as the word came out. “I trust you, Alexander. Forgive me if I gave the impression otherwise.”

Alec smiled. They drew their horses up, side by side, but still, they didn’t mount the animals. They were cut off, trapped in the small space they had created between the horses.

“No more secrets. Or surprising portals.” Magnus wiggled his fingers. “I promise.”

Alec laughed quietly. “Thank you, and…” He swallowed, taking a deep breath and gathering up the nerve for whatever he was fighting to reveal. “I’ll try to…give you what you deserve.”

Magnus blinked. “And what’s that?” He asked, curiously, rather than flirtatiously. Although perhaps his tone had lowered just a little. Who could blame him when the prince was gazing at him so intensely?

“Intimacy.”

He felt his cheeks begin to warm again. How was he going to remain mysterious and witty when Alec said things like that?

But he focused on the honesty, and the vulnerability that Alec was sharing.

Magnus smiled. He took a careful step forwards, but didn’t push it too far. “I don’t want you to force yourself to want that, Alec. I want you to want it, yes, and to want me, but because you feel ready for it. When you are, I’ll be here. Waiting.” He tilted his head to the side. “I am a very patient man, Your Highness, and you,” He ran his eyes shamelessly down Alec’s body. “, you are a worthwhile wait. I will simply enjoy whatever I can, and take no more from you. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” Alec whispered, and his cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining. He was smiling as if he’d discovered a secret that no one else knew.

He swung up onto his horse, and Magnus had to force himself to remember that they were still out in the open. He could ogle the prince later. They had a journey ahead of them. There would be plenty of time to repeat Alec’s words, and relive the conversation, and the touches, and the beautiful smiles that would dance their way into Magnus’ dreams.

Their group was ready to leave, and the werewolf pack escorted them to the edge of the forest, before parting. Their assistance had saved their lives, and Magnus watched them leave with a grateful smile.

They rode out, leaving behind the chaotic after mass of the fight, but also, hope.

~

Bringing the werewolves to the battle had been a move that Alec would forever be grateful for. They had chased alongside him, rushing back and helping the group defeat the demons. And just in time, by the looks of things. 

He was urged on, riding fast and remembering the unity that Magnus wanted. The same Magnus who believed in who Alec would become, and to his own surprise, Alec was starting to stop seeing it as impossible.

_I can do this._

And, he had. _They_ had.

And now he was here, sitting beside Magnus by the fire again. It was a directmirroringof the last night, and yet,this time, Alecwasn’t afraid. He didn’t feel the tugging in his chest, begging him to walk away, to remember his duties. He felt hopeful.

Magnus’ words after the fight still warmed him. He was struggling to think on them, especially when the warlock was sitting beside him, so close. Because there was a beautiful, strong, clever warlock sitting next to him, and they shared a connection.

It was finally possible, after hoping for so long, that the man beside him was falling for him in the same way.

They rode for a while, taking small breaks to check on Lydia. Magnus would gently help take her down from the front of Jace’s horse – the knight had insisted on being seated behind her, to help stay upright – and take away as much of her pain as possible.

Although he was still weakened from the fight, Alec watched, amazed as always as Magnus fought with all of his might to protect those around him. After the third stop, Isabelle invited the warlock to take strength from the group, one at a time.

In turn, they would offer a little energy, and Magnus would smile graciously and accept it.

He also needed it now, for when they were finally setting up camp again; this time, in a small woodland area dotted with trees and caves and the occasional faerie. Luciana would greet them coolly, and nod, making it clear that the group was aligned with her, and the faeries would pass by.

Magnus would walk around, placing up wards carefully. He tried, and a few managed to spread in a large arching dome over the group’s camp, but when he walked back over, and his brow was furrowed, Alec knew that it was a struggle.

The magic in the Shadowlands were vast. There were faeries, warlocks and sorcerers mingling their energies together without realising it.

To Magnus, it probably felt like the impossible task of trying to block out the air. Still, he tried, and Alec would always catch his eye and smile as he made his way back over.

He had also attempted to glamour the group as they rode through the forests, but that was also proving difficult. Magnus explained that he couldn’t completely hide them, but he could blur their figures, and their energies. Anyone observing them would see an odd, blurred space, and hear noises that sounded faint and faraway.

Alec gently turned the cooking meat over, keeping his hands away from the leaping flames beneath. The wood crackled pleasantly, and after the weary battle from the night before, the new evening that greeted them was proving a lot more welcome.

“…and then, there was the time that your pupil, Rose, declared that she was the cleverest in the class. Do you remember what you told her, hm?”

Alec turned his head, seeking out the familiar voice. A sad smile pulled at his lips, and he let it appear as he quietly watched Jace.

His friend was sitting a short distance away, just outside the large tent, and he was cradling Lydia’s head in his lap, gazing down at her as he spoke. He had been telling Lydia stories all morning, and afternoon, as they rode to find a safe place for the night. He held her when she trembled, and whispered to her when she cried out from the venom’s pain. There was such tenderness in his eyes that Alec was enthralled, and wanted to turn away, afraid on intruding on the private moment.

Still, he listened, Jace’s quiet words carrying through the wind.

“…you said that everyone was intelligent. Everyone was always learning. She chose her words carefully after that, to no one’s surprise.”

Even now,asthe night was approaching – and Magnus was hopeful that she would pull through and wake soon – Jace was still whispering softly to Lydia as she rested. Her head was cradled on his lap, and he ran his fingers through her hair, threading them gently and even re-plaiting her braids, over and over again. Her body began to jolt less frequently. Her loud cries became sighs, and then deep breathes.

When everyone waited for Magnus to lean down, his face tense with concentration, the look on Jace’s face was vulnerable, open with fear and hope. “Will she be alright?”

Magnus snapped his fingers, and his magic faded. He opened his eyes, and as they shifted back and forth between his glamoured colour, and his true colour, he smiled. “She will be more than that, Jace. She will live.”

Jace’s shoulders sagged in relief. Tears fell from his eyes as he laughed, quietly. He looked down at Lydia, his fingertips gently brushing her hair behind her ears. “Do you hear that, Branwell? You can’t escape me yet.”

“By the angel, you’re stubborn.”

Everyone gasped, and Jace let out a choked sound of startled surprise.

Lydia’s eyes were open, and she was trying to smile as she met Jace’s eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that?” She asked. Her voice was weak, raw from crying out, but there was already a hint of colour in her cheeks.

“They did.” Jace said, after a long pause. When he had finally regained his composure, he leaned down and kissed Lydia’s cheek, lingering there for a moment. He pulled away, still smiling. “Thanks for coming back to us.”

Lydia smiled, and she leaned into Jace’s chest.

Alec turned back to the meat, and kept an eye on the broth. They were finally using up the last of the herbs and spices they had brought from Idris. He stirred carefully, leaning in and letting the steam warm his face.

It was going to be a cool night, but still, he only felt warm and filled with a sense of peace.

After a minute or two, he dipped the wooden spoon into the broth and scooped some out, blowing on it for a second. When he took a small sip, he frowned. His cooking abilities were decent, but still, Alec didn’t feel like judging his own.

He took another spoonful, leaned across and held it out to Magnus. “Honest opinion only.” Alec warned.

Magnus stared at the spoon. He then grinned, shifting to lean forwards. His skin glowed in the light of the fire’s embers, and when his lips parted to sip the broth, Alec stared at the beads of moisture left on his lower lip.

Magnus looked up, and slowly licked his lips, darting his tongue out smoothly. “It’s perfect, Alec.” He murmured. He leaned back, but slowly, keeping his eyes on Alec as he settled back onto the log.

A warm flush, and a familiar ache, wrapped around Alec, and he fought to control his voice for a moment. “Thank you.” He managed to say.

Not wanting to let the desire grow uncontrollable, Alec cleared his throat and called everyone over. They ate together quietly, with only Jace and Lydia separate as they kept in the warmth of the tent; Jace had insisted that Lydia kept away from the cool breeze now picking up. She’d scolded him, but Alec had seen her pleased smile.

Magnus and Luke offered to take first watch. As Alec headed to try and get some sleep, he sent one last, long look in Magnus’ direction. The warlock was framed by the fire, dazzling as always, but the softness in his smile once again swept Alec’s heart into a frenzy of emotions. Joy danced in the pit of his stomach. Hope teased at his mind. Desire and passion lingered in the warmth of his blood.

_This is what it feels like,_ he thought. _This is what it feels like to listen to your heart_.

~

It wasn’t to his surprise when Alec couldn’t sleep. He drifted in and out for a while, but nothing seemed to work. He was restless. He wasn’t anxious, however. There wasn’t a need to listen for beasts, or create a detailed plan in his head – well, not more so than usual.

He just felt like he was waiting.

_For what?_

It was only as he was slipping his tunic back on that Alec knew what, and _who_ he was seeking out.

He found Magnus almost in the same spot as he had been before. Although now, the fire was burning low, and Luke was gone, likely sleeping like everyone else. Magnus had spread out furs on the ground, and was laying back on them. His chin was tilted up, peering up into the night sky. The only way Alec could tell that he was awake was because his feet were tracing small circles into the dirt _._

_He never can keep still,_ Alec thought fondly.

“Hey.” He said, softly calling out as not to frighten him. Magnus didn’t jump, but he angled his head sharply to the left to stare up at him. His smile was tired, but true. “Alexander.” He greeted. “Couldn’t you sleep?”

Alec shook his head. “No.” He paused. “What are you looking for?” He pointed with a finger towards the sky. “Anything magical?”

“Very.” Magnus whispered.

“Can I…?” Alec let the offer dangle in the air, not wanting to intrude, but also wanting to learn more. What gods did people like Magnus look up to? What greater power did a warlock pray to? Who was somehow brighter than Magnus, more powerful, more heavenly?

Magnus did hesitate. Alec saw it, and swallowed his disappointment. How many times had he pulled away before now? The warlock had every right to take it as slowly as Alec had encouraged him to. But then, Magnus nodded, and invitingly patted the spot on the furs to his left. “Do sit.” He invited.

Alec knelt, swinging his legs around and stretching out onto his back. He kept his arms splayed across his chest, tapping his fingers absently against his tunic. “So,” He said, quietly. “What were you looking at?” The forest was hushed, almost as if it too was sleeping, or trying to, but still, Alec respected its power too much to raise his voice.

Magnus didn’t look at him, but he lifted a finger and pointed out one of the stars. It wasn’t as bright as the others, but it was large, and pulsed. “That…is Cosselle.”

Alec raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. He waited, and was soon rewarded with more.

“And that,” Magnus angled his raised arm to another star, further away. Still, it shone fiercely. “Marie is her name. She was delightful. A spirited woman.” Magnus lowered his arm, gesturing to a third star in the sky. “Henri. Marocu. Samuel.” He swallowed, and then let out a quiet laugh when he pointed to another. “Oh, Imasu.” There was a fondness to his voice then. “Oh, he was a musician unlike any other. Talented. Passionate. Shy.”

Alec thought about this. He had realised after the second name, that these were people from Magnus’ past. Be they friends or lovers, Alec found himself smiling. Any trace of jealousy had disappeared when he glanced over, and found Magnus’ smile gently tugging at his lips. Alec listened, respecting those who had graced Magnus’ long life with a – he hoped – beautiful love.

Instead of jealousy, or even pain, all Alec felt was a kindred gratitude. The men and women who had been blessed to know, and love Magnus, were people he could understand. The lovers had shared their time beside Magnus, and known him and loved him and cared for him. In a strange way, Alec almost wanted to meet them. They were parts of Magnus, and clearly, they were large parts, because he pointed out the stars without hesitation, or forgetting any names.

Instead of pressing for more, Alec simply asked, “Why?” He kept judgement far away. He was curious, however, and let himself ask it.

“Why do I give my dead friends and lovers a star? Hm, is this not ordinary?” He joked, but then his laughter faded. “I give them a star. Always. It doesn’t matter if they have hurt me, or loved me, they deserve to be remembered.” Magnus said, softly. “It hurts. Sometimes. It makes it easier somehow to believe that they’re still with me, even if they’re far away in the sky.”

Alec felt tears prick behind his eyelids. He was grateful for the dark, and lifted a hand to wipe them away as they fell. How enchanting the world was. Until now, Alec had seen so little of it. He was a prince, a future king, but the land had seemed to be off limits. Here was Magnus, showing him the world, bit by bit, step by step. And Alec was firm in his belief that there was no one else he’d rather see it with. The quest, the frightening future ahead, all seemed bearable now, sitting beside Magnus and gazing up at the stars.

Magnus shivered then, breaking the moment. Without thinking too much, Alec tugged at the furs by their feet and carefully covered Magnus, the edges reaching his neck, where the robes were slightly open in the breeze. Magnus smiled at him, shifting slightly closer, and Alec relaxed, warmed by the furs and the man beside him.

“Can I pick my star?” He asked. As soon as the words slipped out, his laughter froze on his lips. He felt his eyes widen as he longed to shove them back down his throat. The careless question made Magnus flinch. Alec felt it like a knife to the gut. It was selfish to bring up Magnus’ pain. A pain that he himself would cause, only to leave for Magnus to pick up the pieces.

Alec quickly cleared his throat. “What about that one?” He joked, lifting his arm and pointing at a tiny one in the far distance. The ache in his chest grew painful as he realised his attempt at distracting Magnus had failed. Really, he was just making it worse. 

He was about to drop his arm, and apologise, when Magnus caught Alec’s arm. He held it, suspended in the air. His hands gently wrapped around Alec’s wrist as he guided it to another spot in the sky. Alec’s breath caught. It got trapped between delight and surprise as Magnus directed his forefinger to another star; a huge, bright, unavoidable, rounded glow. The moon was lovely and enchanting as Alec let Magnus point to it.

“That,” Magnus’ voice was quiet. “, is where I will keep you, Alexander.”

They were quiet in the magnitude of Magnus’ words. Alec focused on settling his heartbeat back into its usual steady rhythm, but Magnus was still gently holding his wrist, and as he gazed up at the moon, the tears sprung into his eyes again. How cared for Magnus made him feel. How respected, and noticed.

Alec swallowed down a shaky breath. “Why the moon?” He asked softly. It suggested something different from the others, not necessarily more important, but unique. Special. He could give Magnus something that no one else had before. A different kind of memory.

“Because…she will never fade. She will glow, always.” Magnus said. “Until the world crumbles, and the angels create a new one, that is where your memory will stay. Alec, there are not enough stars in this sky, or any other sky, that could capture what I feel for you. Sometimes I feel that my heart will burst from it.”

He lowered their hands, but kept them entwined, keeping them tangled in the warm furs they shared.

It didn’t feel right to push forwards; to close the distance. There would be other times. Under the stars of Magnus’ past, it was almost poetic just to sit there. He didn’t feel rushed, or desperate. There was nothing left to prove.

And when he heard Magnus gently snoring, Alec smiled. The trust between them unloosened the tension he had been carrying since the fight.

He watched the stars, keeping an ear out for any strange sounds. No one else was on guard, so Alec stayed awake, the warmth of Magnus heating his gut, his heart, his chest.

The stars seemed to twinkle, one by one. Alec imagined that everyone Magnus had loved, and lost, was watching. Would they smile and greet him? Would they thank him for taking care of Magnus?

Alec sent a small prayer up them _, I’ll look after him. I promise._

~

In the next two weeks, the group travelled slowly. They were journeying towards the valley, but because of Lydia’s injury, they had to be cautious. Any attack would mean having the disadvantage, so instead, they chose to slow down.

They were still awaiting a letter back from Idris.

Luciana would make sure their camping places were on neutral ground, or spoke with the fae who lived there for permission. They came across a few travelling Seelies, another werewolf pack, and later, a warlock couple.

Magnus greeted them politely, but he didn’t show any sign of having met them before. They joined the group by the fire one evening, exchanging stories and tales that stretched long into the early hours of the morning. The woman, Willow, even helped to strengthen their wards for the night, as her husband, Teva, with dark curls and pretty, brown eyes, assisted with the cooking.

As Alec held a bowl out to Willow, the tall woman accepted it with a small smile and gestured for him to take a seat. He did, hesitating only for a moment. They ate in quiet companionship, until Alec found himself staring across the camp, over to where Magnus was helping Clary to test her gifts – they had decided that if she could reach out with her mind again, perhaps she could sense upcoming dangers.

“You care for him.” Willow’s strong voice broke through the silence, but she was careful not to speak too loudly. She was watching him with a solemn expression. “I’ve been around a long time. I know that look. The beginning, the middle, and the end all at once.”

Alec smiled cautiously. “You do? Oh, right.” He nodded to Teva. “How long have you…?” He waved a hand.

“A long while. Still, we could lose each other at any moment. Being immortal doesn’t make you live forever. It’s important that you remember that. Don’t let your own fears ruin the time you have together. A year spent in love is better than a lifetime of half-living.”

Alec nodded. Slowly, he asked, “Why are you giving me advice? I appreciate it, but…you’re a downworlder. You should hate me. Hate what I stand for. The Accords-“

“- can be changed. I have a feeling that change is coming, and you, are a part of it. You can do great things for my kind, as well as yours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re young still. I can see this is already changing you, opening up your eyes to the world around you. Your Highness, we must be leaving.” Willow stood, as Teva walked up and linked his arm through hers. The love between them was strong. A fool could see it.

Alec quickly clambered to his feet, placing his bowl down. He wiped his hands on his tunic and then held one out, gripping the warlock’s offered one firmly. “Pleasure to meet you.” He said, honestly.

Willow inclined her head gracefully, and beside her, Teva smiled.

Their smiles were wide as they headed away from the camp. Alec watched them leaving, slowly chewing on the last bite of crisp meat in his bowl. Someone had let Isabelle near the cooking pot again.

_It was probably Clary,_ he thought with a scoff. Even then, he couldn’t make the frustration last long. His sister would light up, even more so than usual, whenever she trained the girl. Every time they cooked together, or said goodnight, Alec would steal a quick glance and watch Isabelle’s smile. It was growing softer, sweeter, and deeper in a way that Alec saw as a reflection to how he felt.

How else could he explain how it felt to sit beside Magnus and understand him completely? Over the last weeks, Alec found himself revelling in the casual, brief moments; the ones that lingered long after they were over. He would ask Magnus to taste the soup, or take extra care when carrying the bowl over. He would walk beside the warlock as he placed new wards around their nightly camp, asking questions, and even more surprisingly, divulging his own answers.

Magnus would enquire about his childhood, or his favourite pastimes – reading, archery, anything that didn’t begin with ‘my parents…’ – and Alec would find the answer slipping easily off his tongue. They didn’t feel like secrets, but the intimacy was there. In every look, in every smile, it was there. Alec would sleep each night and place the new memories into a safe spot in his heart. He would dream about them, reliving them again and again.

It was around the tenth night since the battle when the biggest surprise came. Alec was laughing as he listened to Magnus sharing a marvellous story about his first time in a tavern. He was laughing, and realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he had stumbled over his words. More and more, the prince found himself hesitating less, smiling more, and understanding the peace of truly being comfortable in your own skin.

The desire was there. It was a scolding hot burn in his chest, which flared to life every time Magnus lowered his voice to a teasing whisper, or winked at him before swinging up onto his horse. The urge to steal private moments overwhelmed him. He sought them out like prayers. Still, he was careful to remain wary of his surroundings. They were heading towards a battle, and still in danger, but Alec also felt glad of the slow journey. Lydia was recovering well, and they were making good time despite the setback.

Danger and passion were knitting themselves together in Alec’s heart, and there was a strong chance that he was quite alright with this.

~

“ _Alexander_.”

Alec’s eyes flew open. He sat up, placed a hand on his sword, and gasped when his forehead bumped against someone’s.

Early morning light was streaming in through the slight gap in the tent. Someone had tugged it open, just a little.

“Oh. Magnus. Hey.” Alec quickly placed his sword back down and cleared his throat. His voice was still gruff from sleep.

It was a new morning, a new day, and Magnus was wearing a smile fit for mischief and delight. “No trouble,” Magnus promised. He spoke quietly, barely a whisper. It was a secret for only Alec to hear, and he leaned in instinctively. “I just thought…you might like a surprise.”

“The others?”

“Asleep. We have some time.” Magnus looked at him, from beneath long lashes, and his smile turned soft. He was youthful then, to Alec, who had grown so accustomed to seeing the enchantment in Magnus’ being. He was seeing another side, a deeper layer; the tender hearted warlock who, time and time again, reached out to others.

Alec nodded easily. “Lead the way.”

He carefully strapped his sword around his deep green tunic – he had slept in the same one – and stepped into the new morning. The sun was low, still rising, but the mist was gone, and the wind was barely there. It was warmer, and Alec didn’t shiver as he followed Magnus – who was unusually quiet – out of the clearing. He let Magnus lead him a little deeper into the woods, and down a small hill. The ground beneath their feet turned softer, almost clay-like, and it was a deep reddish-brown as the ground levelled out after a short walk.

Alec gasped as the trees opened up, and a beautifully clear, green lake revealed itself to them. It was hidden, tucked away by the hill and the caves, but it was peaceful. The high walls around the lake presented a cascading waterfall that fell into the lake, but the sounds were gentle as the water hit the surface. There wasn’t a chaotic crash of water against water. The rushing sounds were pleasant, as was the private, intimate location of the pool.

The colours were what surprised Alec. There were trees around them, with vibrant blossoms, birds flew overhead.

“Do you like it?”

Alec stirred at Magnus’ voice. He nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away. “Yeah. It’s…it’s really something.” He was drawn to the way the light bounced off the water, the clear blue-green looking inviting.

“I thought you might like a private space.” Magnus said. He was half turning away as he spoke, not quite meeting the prince’s eye. His scarlet robes caught the light, twinkling like rubies. “To bathe, or perhaps just to sit. I’m sure these past weeks have been difficult.”

“Uh, that sounds great.” Alec admitted. The quiet echoes of birds and the gentle wind were the only sounds they heard. The rest was cut off as they stood together, gazing out into the large rock pool.

“I can keep guard while you-"

“No.” Alec quickly held up a hand, stopping Magnus as he took a step back. The warlock’s eyes widened, and he took a deep breath as he stared down at the place where Alec’s hand was resting.

“Are you…sure?” Magnus asked, slowly. It wasn’t hesitation. Alec knew they were beyond that. It was respect.

Alec was fighting back the wide grin as he nodded. “Please. Stay. I thought you were the one who cared more about beauty routine anyway.” He tried to joke as he shrugged out of his tunic. He kicked off the heels of his boots, ignoring the trembling in his thighs.

There was a familiar ache in his gut that was getting stronger by the second. Alec swallowed, lifting the tunic up and over his head and focusing on carefully folding it. It was better than stealing a glance at Magnus, or noticing that his own robes were being unbuttoned by his long, careful fingers, and his hips circled gracefully-

He made his way across to the edge of the pool, carefully crossing over the stones. The cool rocks were rough, but dry, and he stepped confidentially until the pool was before him, its sparkling depths awaiting.

Alec lowered himself, sitting down and letting his toes skim across the water. It felt childlike, innocent; watching the water and smiling at the beauty around him. Even with the dangerous path ahead, Alec didn’t feel hopeless. He had faith; in his friends, his family.

Whatever slither of uncertainty he had left disappeared forever when Magnus sat down beside him. His bare chest was smooth, the muscles as sculpted and defined as Alec remembered. And he had done his best to remember. His dreams wouldn’t let him forget that moment, of watching Magnus draw energy from the Ancient Oak.

Instead of speaking – because Alec wasn’t sure if he could speak at all if Magnus was smiling at him like that; like someone had plucked a cord between them, and he could hear it – the prince carefully lowered himself and slipped under the water. His feet hit the ground, surprising him at how shallow the pool was. He swam across, slow, strong strokes, until the waterfall sounded loudly in his ears. He didn’t go any further, turning back and enjoying the coolness of the water. He parted it, the ripples gentle.

When he felt the water shift, Alec braced himself. He drew in a sharp breath, opening his eyes to see Magnus treading water quietly. Water droplets clung to his lashes, his lips, and the broad shoulders that were above the water. He was, like Alec, still wearing pants, but Alec felt his cheeks flush as he realised there were so few layers left between them.

“I’m proud of you.” Magnus suddenly said. His voice was almost as gentle as the ripples around them.

Alec didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Thank you.” He murmured, his feet finding the rocks beneath again. He didn’t stand, still lowering onto his knees as he kept most of his torso underwater. Still, he didn’t miss the way that Magnus’ eyes grazed across his chest, the look of desire written so clearly in them that Alec didn’t move.

Running a hand through his damp hair, Alec swallowed down a gulp and continued, “I want to be a leader. A good one. This whole quest is supposed to make me prove that, and…it’s hard work, I know that, and it will mean making mistakes and learning but…I’m ready for it.” He let his chin lift, suddenly warmed by pride. “I want to be ready for it.”

Magnus beamed. There was no other word for it. He was grinning, and his lips were bright and pink beneath the rising sun. “You will be unstoppable.” He purred. His eyes once again lingered a little too long on the dark hairs along Alec’s chest.

“Just like you.” Alec challenged. He raised an eyebrow, daring Magnus to argue. He was feeling surprisingly steady then, as he let himself close some of the distance, swimming slowly.

Magnus’ smile fell, just for a moment, but long enough for Alec to feel a stab of guilt. “I’m immortal, not invincible, Alec.” The warlock said quietly, but not unkindly. A large drop of water reached his upper lip, and when it fell to his chin, Alec followed the movement. He licked his lips absently.

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just wanted you to understand. The time we are given is limited, mortal or immortal. We never know when we see our last sunrise. Which is why, you should take every opportunity to fight for what you want. Open your heart up, and let in the entire world. It can hurt you, this world. It really can, but in my experiences – and believe me, I’ve had quite a great deal – they’re all irreplaceable. Every choice I’ve made has made me this.” He winked. “I did okay, right?”

“Understatement.” Alec mumbled. There were many words to describe Magnus Bane. Simply ‘okay’ was almost insane. Beautiful. Desirable. Compassionate. Powerful. Those were words that touched the deeper layers. Okay was a dying ember in comparison to the burning flame of Magnus’ light; his joy, his secrets, his honesty.

The prince glanced up then, at a small flock of colourful birds flying overhead. Their wings stretched out, and their song was gentle, melodic.

“Where are they going?”

“Wherever their hearts choose. They’re free.” Magnus' lips twitched, replacing his serious expression with a sly grin. “Or, perhaps they’re flying to their nest. I believe it’s close.”

Alec shrugged, good-naturedly. “Or that.” He teased.

They grew quiet again, and Magnus’ gaze lifted, just above Alec’s head. He looked back at Alec and gestured for him to turn around. “Look up.” He instructed gently. Alec did, turning around and staring up again. A faint outline of a large shape was dusting the morning sky. It was visible, still large, even in the new colours of the day.

“You can see the moon, always.” Magnus told him. “In the light, and the dark.” He was closer than before, swimming forwards as Alec felt his body also shift closer. They were so close that Alec could see the handful of freckles on Magnus’ nose. He could see the shift in his movements, the way his hands were circling the water around him, gently, purposefully. Every move Magnus made was careful, and focused. He was a creature of magic, and heart too.

Alec’s chest heaved, pressing almost against the warlock’s. He stared at him, searching for any sign of teasing. There was none. His fears were only met by a confident gaze, and a beautiful man who was waiting for him to move.

Alec knew then. He knew what Magnus was really saying _._

_I see you. I choose to see you. I will always see you._

Alec opened his mouth. Any words that he wanted to speak seemed to disappear. The water lapped around them, and Alec felt his hands clench into fists. He had no words to rightfully express his heart’s emotions, but he wanted to. By the angel, he wanted to. If not for himself, then for Magnus, who had risked so much for him already.

Burying his last drop of composure, Alec lifted a hand out of the water. He ran it, slowly, against Magnus’ cheek, tracing the curve of his cheekbone, and then drifting down to his lower lip. He ran his finger along, gasping at the warmth, and the raw energy of desire radiating between them.

“Show me.” Alec whispered. His voice was hoarse, torn with a desperate need. “Please. Take away the glamour.” He ran his hand up again, tracing higher and over the warlock’s brow. “I want to see you too.”

Magnus didn’t move, but he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously. His pupils were dilated as they lazily focused. “ _Alexander_.” He murmured. It was an answer, and a question, but after a pause, Magnus closed his eyes. When he opened them, Alec was staring into heaven. He held the warlock’s gaze with a smile.

“Ask me again.” Alec said.

“Ask you what?”

“If you remember what you asked me when I left your tower, and I didn’t answer, ask it again.” Alec lifted his other hand and cupped the right side of Magnus’ neck, his thumb brushing the warlock’s sharp jaw. “I’m ready to answer now.”

He rested his hands there, on either side of Magnus’ neck. His pulse was strong and beating rapidly, and the gift of being allowed this close was sending Alec’s thoughts into a chaotic blur of pleasure and overwhelming _want_.

Magnus suddenly smiled. His hands cut slowly through the water as he reached for Alec, drawing him closer as he wrapped his fingers around his waist. The palms of his soft hands spread against the lower planes of his back, and Alec bit down on his lip to conceal his gasp. He was close, so close, and Magnus was opening every part of himself to him.

“Alec,” Magnus began. He licked his lips. “Do you still think me beautiful?” He repeated the teasing remark from so long ago. Only now, it came out as a broken whisper, a desperate sound that was a gasp, a groan and a prayer. He didn’t need Alec to answer the question itself, but to answer the calling of his heart.

“Yes.” Alec answered without hesitation. “You call me the moon, but Magnus, your eyes, your true eyes,” He brushed his thumb gently around Magnus’ eyes, briefly touching the lower lashes before resting his hands around his neck again. “, are the only stars I need to navigate with.” He felt bold then, and pushed his hands higher, into the tangles of hair at the nape of Magnus’ neck. He pressed closer, lowering his head to close the fraction of distance between them.

“Alec…” Magnus whispered. His eyes were shining with tears, and the vulnerability in his expression was tearing a hole in Alec’s composure. He felt the urgent, coiling need to prove his feelings to Magnus, to make him realise what he wanted. Who he wanted.

“I was scared before, but I’m not anymore.” Alec said, surprised by the lack of trembling in his voice. He grinned, helpless against the pull of confidence that having Magnus in his arms was giving him. “I want this.” Alec promised him gently. “I want _you_.”

Magnus’ nose brushed his as he lifted his chin. He exhaled, and the warmth whispered against Alec’s lips. “Then the stars are yours.” Magnus murmured. “I am yours.”

And that was the last confirmation Alec needed. He wrapped his arms fully around Magnus’ neck, his hands still tangled in his soft hair, and kissed him soundly. Slowly, deeply and hungrily, he kissed Magnus. They held the kiss. They captured the moment in a burst of colour.

Alec could feel his fingers shaking, so he gripped Magnus’ hair a little harder, until the warlock gasped into his lips. The sound sent a wave of pleasure into Alec’s chest, and he lowered his head to deepen the kiss even more. It was the prince’s turn to groan when Magnus’ tongue slowly swiped across his lower lip. He was taking his time, savouring it, and the thought sent shivers down Alec’s back, at where Magnus’ hands were still desperately pulling him closer in the water.

This, Alec decided, was a destiny he could fully support. A destiny with a man he cared for deeply. A man who kissed him with all of his heart. A man who trusted, respected, and desired him. Alec kissed Magnus for as long as time allowed him. He kissed him until his lips were sore and his breathes were heavy and desperate for more air.

As they both pulled back, Alec opened his eyes, slowly, gazing at Magnus, whose lips were kiss-bruised and plump and left Alec wanting to kiss him again. He smiled, letting out a quiet laugh. Magnus grinned, his own shoulder shaking as he laughed.

Alec took another deep breath, and dived in for another kiss.

As he stroked against the nape of Magnus’ neck, gasping in-between kisses, Alec realised that he was pushing them both backwards; through the water. Magnus moved with him, easily, until they were against the rocks at the edge and Alec was pressed firmly against him, trapping Magnus against the stone. He gasped as Magnus bent slightly, his back arching. Alec followed, leaning forwards so that he was half bent over Magnus and capturing his lower lip between his. He moaned. The sensation of hot skin, water-damp lips and Magnus’ soft hair was driving Alec wild. He couldn’t get close enough. They were entangled, half in the water and half out as Alec lowered himself to kiss the warlock again.

He let out a groan of delight as Magnus’ hands skimmed across his ribcage, the fingertips lightly curling into the smattering of dark hair on Alec’s chest. His touches were careful, but there was a hunger, a need, in his kisses, and Alec met them with equal fire.

The prince snapped out if his lustful haze long enough to pull back, just for a pause. He took a slow, steady breath, in through the nose, the warm, morning air skimming over his bare shoulders.

Magnus was gazing at him, waiting. He licked his lips, which only drew Alec’s attention back down to their slightly parted, plump invitation.

When he kissed Magnus again, Alec let his tongue flick out to taste Magnus, and the gasp he was rewarded with sent pleasure sparking off in every direction. He was careful, slower this time, but his hunger urged him forwards, and he untangled his arms from around Magnus’ neck and cupped his face instead, which meant he could angle his chin just right to deepen the kisses even more.

All around them, the Shadowlands kept quiet. Not silent. Or empty. Just, quiet.

The moment was theirs, and theirs alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeals* so they finally kissed!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> This is the visual i used for the waterfall! (just without the second layer) : https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/52/0f/8f/520f8fa1891007e10af6e30bdada8dc5.jpg  
> I really hoped you liked the chapter, it was a joyful, but stressful chapter to write because i wanted to get it spot on. Comments feed the soul, so if you have the time, please drop a line :)  
> I really wanted to build them up nicely, so i hope the slow burn was lovely, rather than 'uGHHHHHH' :D  
> Come find me on twitter @clockworkswan96, or on tumblr: swans-hooks-and-books :)  
> I love hearing from you all :)  
> Have a lovely week! x


	14. Humdard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!  
> I'm so glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. Your comments and love are so appreciated, thank you! :)  
> This chapter has lots of saphael, group scenes, and malec, and I really hope you enjoy it.  
> Happy reading!  
> Fic playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> The chapter title is taken from this song here, which is so lovely: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BPKO3JJPN8

_'Humdard' meaning: 'someone who shared a pain with someone. As in, if you share my pain with me, you are my 'humdard'.' It's more like a close friend who understands you and feels bad when you have a problem, and feels good when you do well.'_

_~_

“Another letter!”

“Hm?”

Raphael looked up as a figure came rushing into the courtyard. He blinked, stopping instantly as he realised what he had interrupted. Simon gave a hesitant smile, awkwardly waving a hand towards the young squires who had just had their training session interrupted.

Raphael dismissed them with a stern glance. "We are finishing early today. Be on time tomorrow." He warned, and the young boys scattered quickly, laughing as they ran up to the castle. 

Simon was still shuffling on his feet. “Oh, um, I mean… _Sir_ , excuse me, there is a second letter for you..."

The knight walked over, and held up a hand. “Simon, stop." He warned, but gently. "I told you to call me Raphael. That will be fine.”

“Well…. _Raph-ae-l_ ,” Simon said it slowly, drawing out the letters, but it was only made worse when he grinned most charmingly. “I like that.” He said cheerfully. “Anyway, here you are.” He handed it over, and waited, tapping his hands impatiently against the side of his thigh.

Raphael squinted at the man’s nervous tic until he stilled.

The letter was held in a parchment that wasn’t mortal-made. It was almost tough, made of a skin of sorts, and when Raphael unrolled it, it shimmered even once they were out of the courtyard's open brightness. They made their way over to a bench, overlooking the square.

As he read the letter, and its content, out loud to the other man, Raphael was grateful for more than one reason. Poor Simon had been miserable as he waited for an answer, no doubt anxious to hear of the princess. Raphael had attempted to comfort him, but resented how quickly he would pull away when Simon needed it the most. Still, the knight did his best, tentatively offering whatever he could in the name of their odd friendship.

Raphael was distracted by the news in the letter. It was from Alec and his group, but also from a member of the Seelie Court, a friend of the princess Isabelle’s. The letter, once again, told them of their adventures so far in the Shadowlands, the discovery of Valentine’s plot to sacrifice his daughter to gain the Cup, and the approaching war.

And as soon as he placed the letter down, Raphael realised that his hands trembled. He tightened them into fists, but still, the fear was almost alive inside him.

“We were right.” Raphael said, finally. They had been waiting for another letter, afraid that the first was forged, or a trick. This proved the urgency, and truth, as Alec's hand was the same as before. 

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” He tried for a small smile, which the knight appreciated immensely. “Valentine is alive.” Simon said it slowly, his voice trembling. “He’s going to attack with sorcerers again, and….demons, oh,” Simon gasped, and for a moment, he looked ready to be sick. “They’ll be slaughtered unless we send help. We have to go to the King and Queen...”

“I will put forth our plan.” Raphael said, hoping it would ease the moment. He went to pat Simon on the back, and then drew back. 

After a moment, the boy stopped trembling. He smiled up, still with his head between his legs, and smiled hopefully. “We have a plan?” Simon asked.

This time, Raphael did roll his eyes. “Yes, _your_ plan, remember?” Raphael reminded him, plainly. There was another pause. “Boats?” He prompted again, when the bookkeeper still looked confused. 

Simon frowned. “That was just an idea. It’s not a good plan, and it’s not like I was born for building an armada…”

“It’s the best idea we have.” Raphael said, holding Simon’s gaze until he accepted the credit for it.

“Are you going to call for a Court session? They have to listen now. Two letters is enough, yes? It’s what we needed to bring Alec’s concerns forwards.”

“Yes.” Raphael agreed. He had been waiting for the second letter, in order to confirm that this was indeed the prince speaking, and not a mimic. There was strange magic everywhere these days, and god forbid they send Idris’ army into a pretend war.

He stood to leave. “I will address the Court in the morning.” He told the boy, watching as the last of the squires left the yard. 

“Do you want me…” Simon trailed off. “Never mind. It was a silly question.” He stood up as well, taking a few steps back, but not turning away just yet. He hesitated.

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Tell me.”

“It's just...do you want me to stand beside you? Tomorrow, at Court?" Simon still didn't meet the knight's gaze.  He carried on, nervously. "I know I’m only a bookkeeper, my rank is by no means higher, but if you want someone to help carry the books, with the details on the Cup, o-or to present the scrolls…I could do that.” Simon finished with a mumble.

“Yes. Please.” Raphael answered quickly, and shortly. He blinked, startled by his own decision. There was nothing meaningful about that, surely?

“Great.” Simon beamed. “I mean, not great _great_ , because there’s a war coming, but….good.”

He was about to turn to leave, when Raphael suddenly realised something. “Simon,” He called out.

“Yes?”

“Did you skip the…commoner’s banquet,” Raphael grimaced. He hated calling it that, but it was the only known name for the evening meal down in the villages. “, just to bring me this?” He dangled the letter between his fingers.

Simon nodded, his face betraying no sign of regret. “Well, it is pretty important. Yes, I did.”

However, it wasn’t that simple. Simon could have payed someone else to deliver it, or waited until the next morning, or after the meal. He was selfless, always willing to put others first and look out for those he cared for.

“That won’t do.” Raphael shook his head, trying to appear firm. Now it was his turn to avoid the other man's gaze. “Come with me, then. I suppose you’ll have to help yourself to castle leftovers.”

“N-no, I couldn’t.”

“We have figs.”

Simon's eyes widened. “Oh. Very well then.”

Raphael let himself laugh at this. He walked beside Simon as they strolled up the castle steps. “Do all the ladies woo you with cooked meat and wine instead of kisses?” Raphael asked, the teasing remark slipping out before he could determine whether or not it was allowed.

“I wouldn’t know.” Simon mumbled, scratching his nose. 

They reached the smaller kitchen, just outside the Great Hall, and Raphael led Simon over to where the leftover food was taken.

They were in time, and luck. The servants were still busy cleaning up, and Raphael busied himself with piling up food for the boy as he considered Simon's words. Really, was Simon jesting, or being earnest? On the one hand, surely many villagers found Simon endearing, and made advances towards him.

Yet, as Raphael risked a glance at the boy, he found Simon flushing and seemingly embarrassed, which suggested the truth to his statement.

He sat with Simon as he ate in the kitchen, busying himself with reading through some of the books, instead of awkwardly waiting in silence. He would ask a question, or Simon would point something out, and it was quiet, comfortable and unforced.

Perhaps it was unusual for a knight and a bookkeeper to share such easy companionship, but Raphael did not feel any divide between them as they sat together. Yet, was that his arrogance? He hadn’t considered how Simon might feel. Did he feel forced into obeying Raphael, or was the boy really enjoying their time together?

There was no subtle way forward to ask, and so Raphael buried the questions, hoping, in time, that they would dissolve.

When the time came for the late evening bell, Simon jumped with a start. “I have to go back. I-“

“At this hour? Certainly not. Don’t you have castle chambers as well?”

“Yes, but…”

Raphael waited for the answer as they walked out of the kitchens, travelling down a passageway that led to various bedchambers. 

Simon sighed. When they rounded another corner, he stopped. He leaned against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, and failing. “A friend is sleeping there tonight, well, and for many nights now, to hide from the Baron of her estate. He wishes to marry her, and she was frightened to refuse, so I offered her my room and…”

“Then, where have _you_ been staying?” Raphael demanded.

There was a long pause before Simon answered, and he ducked his head, mumbling, “It’s surprising how many villagers will let you sleep in the barn for the night.” He smiled, sheepishly and added, “It’s surprisingly warm when there’s animals as well-“

“No more of that. Come with me. Again.” He added with a sigh. Really, the boy was trouble. Why Raphael was even bothering to help him, he had no idea. 

He led Simon around, to where the chambers were for guests of the castle. It was later in the season, and therefore colder weather meant the castle would expect very few guests unless it was urgent. He chose a medium sized one – too small would seem rude, and too large would seem…suspicious – and handed the key over to Simon.

“This is your room now." Raphael told him. "Use it well. You’ll have to empty your own chamber pots and change your own sheets. And you’ll still need to go to the village for food-“

It was the knight’s turn to be interrupted as Simon not only took the key, but briefly held his hand, squeezing it and smiling. “Thank you.” He whispered. “I don’t know how I can repay you, but I won’t forget this, Raphael.”

For a moment, Raphael wondered if he had forgotten how to speak. The words were somehow stuck in his throat. They lodged themselves, refusing to grace the air with anything sensible. He watched Simon, taking sudden pleasure in his smile, and that the smile was directed towards _him_ , and then nodded.

Raphael took a step back. “Good night, Simon. I will fetch you for Court tomorrow.”

~

“Does it mean broken, as in the _literal_ meaning, or…more symbolic?”

“It’s a prophecy, Jace. Who knows? It really isn’t supposed to guide us at all.”

“Hm. Broken prince…broken prince….broken…prince-“

“Really?” Alec glared across at his friend, but his lips twitched in amusement. They had been discussing this for barely a minute, and Alec already wanted to move on. “Magnus already told us not to bother with trying to decipher it." The prince warned his friend. "No one knows where prophecies come from. They end up causing more trouble than they’re worth, so,” He waved a hand. “Let it go.”

“Do you want me to talk about something else then?”

“Please.”

“Anything?”

“Anything at all.” Alec said, exasperated.

His friend wiggled an eyebrow. “So, you and Magnus, huh?”

“ _Jace_.” Alec hissed, quickly glancing around, before realising that they were in a camp settlement with people they trusted. It was a calm, still night, and everyone was asleep, except for the two of them. They were on watch duty, alone, but still, it was difficult not to fall back into the habit of acting defensive.

“Yes?” Alec asked carefully. He began to slowly trace the patterns on his sword handle. He didn't look back across at Jace, but he felt his friend's mood shift. He felt the tone in his voice move from teasing, to genuine, and caring. 

“You care for him very much?” Jace asked it quietly, as if understanding already what the statement meant to his friend. He sat a little closer on the log, waiting patiently for the prince to respond. 

Unable to speak, Alec simply nodded. Only it wasn’t simple, and he ended up turning his head to face Jace. “I’ve never met someone like Magnus before, Jace, and it’s not just…what he is, or how he acts, it’s what I feel when we’re together. And I feel it from him too."

He waited for a moment, trying to search for the right words. There were many words. So many, and in so many languages. Alec struggled to find them. He stared down at his sword handle, and then felt his lips curve into a smile. "When you pick up a sword," He began, slowly. ", and it feels right in your hand, and you know it will play to your strengths and make you a better fighter…it feels similar to that." Alec finally plucked up the courage to meet Jace's eyes again. "Does that make sense?”

Jace nodded, smiling slightly. He glanced across, and Alec knew that there was a certain, blonde-haired, braided warrior in his friend's thoughts. He let Jace think things over, and when his friend nudged him, his cheeky grin was back. 

“Only you would compare wooing a warlock to swordplay.” Jace joked. 

“I’m not wooing a warlock.”

“I dare you to say that as fast as you can with a straight face.”

Alec scoffed, finally letting out a laugh. “Thank you, for…understanding." He ran a hand through his hair - which was getting wild and long as the days spun on. "This is all very new, but at the same time, I'm afraid. Not anymore.”

The fire crackled, and Jace poked a stick into the centre, carefully. “You’ve found a good man, Alec." He said, and the sincere look in his eyes warmed Alec's heart. His friend glanced away, biting his lip. "I know…when we get home, you might have to fight to prove that - and I agree that you ought not to have to – but it doesn’t take a fool to work out what the two of you share.”

Alec placed his hands in his lap, trying to stop their trembling. “And what’s that?” He asked, quietly, hopefully, and fearful all at once. His heart was beating faster and faster by the minute.

Jace merely answered with a shrug, but his lips quirked into a grin. “That’s for you two to work out." He teased. "So have fun with that.”

"I will." Alec retorted, stubbornly. He was still smiling, however, so the retaliation didn't carry across. 

When Jace spoke up again, he was back to his original thoughts. “Sacrifice a life, reclaim a light…sacrifice a life...?”

“Stop it.” Alec groaned, but he was also intrigued by this line of the prophecy. He studied Magnus, who was curled up in the nearest tent. His hand dangled out of the tent, and the warlock even moved his fingers sometimes in his sleep. It was frustratingly adorable.

Alec felt suddenly pained, and filled to the brim with the many possibilities ahead. Would he sacrifice his life in order to protect the ones around this circle, and his people? If it was a choice between living and selfish love, or sacrifice and selfless love, what would Alec choose?

He ducked his head, ashamed at how difficult he would find the decision.

But now that he had kissed Magnus, and held him closely, and opened up his heart, how easy would it be to choose duty over romance? His people, over his heart? Part of the prince's heart would always belong to the people. That was the truth, also, which only made the ordeal twice as hard.

“Do you think the light in the prophecy is as simple as finding a lost candle?”

Alec was suddenly grateful for Jace's jokes. “Or setting fire to the land.” Alec joined in, dryly.

“You just want to take all the fun out of this life-altering prophecy. Shame.” Jace tutted, shaking his head. “I, for one, am not letting you heroically jump in the way of anyone and sacrifice your life. Besides, you’re alive in the end.”

“I am?" The prince raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Are you a seer now?” 

“Alec, come on,” Jace looked at him seriously now. “’A king is born’.” Jace quoted. “That’s you. I’m sure of it.”

“Really?”

He watched the fire burning, this new thought alarming. 

Sensing the prince's sudden realisation, Jace placed an arm on Alec's, and gently asked, “Do you remember when I hesitated on the bridge? And I said that you weren’t ready to become king?”

Alec nodded. The moment spun itself back into his thoughts, but the fear, the uncertainty was dissolved completely when Jace smiled. It was a wide, happy, easy smile, and there was only truth in his next words. 

“I think you are close, Alec. More than ever before. I’m proud to be beside you, as always.” Jace quietly said.

The bright, beautiful colours in the fire mirrored themselves inside Alec's chest. He felt pride blossom against his skin. It didn't surprise him that Jace's support relaxed him. It always had, and always would. 

As if sensing that the moment was overwhelming Alec, Jace cleared his throat. "So," He began, leaning back casually and propping himself up by the elbows. “, what do warlocks taste like? Because I always imagined it was a smoky kind of-“

Alec shoved his friend off the log, but his laughter gave him away once again, and when Jace fell asleep, Alec studied Magnus again, and smiled.

He was happy. He really was. 

~

The next morning, Isabelle watched as Clary closed her eyes again, and let out a growl of frustration.

“Just relax.” Isabelle offered, pushing Clary’s hair over her shoulders.

They had been trying this for days now, helping Clary to pick through the creatures that called out to her, filter through the magic she could read, and understand. The knowledge she had picked up from her sleep came in waves, and she would recall names of faeries living in a small cave across the river, or a warlock in the Guild who was praying for his mother.

It was overwhelming, and Isabelle knew this not because of the connection between them, but because of simple body language. Clary would flinch as they passed a river of sea creatures, or blink against the sun at random moments. She would feel bursts of emotion, and occasionally let out a hiss, sigh, or happy laugh.

“Can I try something?” Isabelle asked. She glanced over at Magnus. To the warlock’s credit, he had been a patient teacher so far. He was kind, and firm, guiding Clary with careful direction. Still, even Magnus had limits to his patience, and Clary’s expression was already stormy with frustration, and it was barely midday.

“Sure, my dear.” Magnus said, and he invited Izzy to stand with them with a sweeping gesture of his hands.

Standing in front of Clary, Isabelle instructed, “Close your eyes again.”

“Please don’t kiss me.” Clary said, suddenly.

Isabelle quirked an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring the little giggle that escaped from the warlock’s lips. Magnus innocently looked away in time to avoid Izzy’s glare.

“Is that such a terrible fate?” Isabelle teased.

“It wouldn’t exactly help me to focus.” Clary said.

Now it was Isabelle’s turn to hide her sheepish laugh. She dug her boots into the ground, crushing up a little of the mud, and then felt steady again. “Whenever you’re ready, imagine a tapestry.”

“Romantic.” Magnus commented, his smile sly.

“Why don’t you go and woo my brother, hm?”

“Wooing a prince takes careful planning, my dear, naïve, friend.” Magnus said, but his smile was helpless in revealing his emotions.

“So you don’t deny it? That you are wooing my brother?”

“Isabelle.” Magnus feigned a gasp of horror. “You betrayed me.” He made no further attempt to protest otherwise. Instead, he shrugged. “Stop bothering a poor, old man, and get back to helping Clary.”

“Old.” Isabelle repeated, rolling her eyes. “You certainly don’t act old.” She teased her friend, but turned back to Clary.

It was interesting, actually. Isabelle had often wondered how age and experience combined with the warlock’s physical appearance. Although, indeed, he looked almost the same age as they were, Magnus was much older, and had loved, lost, and experienced wars and horrors and delights too. He had seen change and birth, and death. He was filled with epic tales and quiet adventures too, and it was quite clear why her brother had fallen for him.

_They match well,_ Isabelle thought, happily. Magnus helped Alec to grow, to learn and care for himself, and Alec, in return, reopened Magnus’ heart, and reminded him that he too was worth loving. They were quiet and tentative to each other, like when Isabelle would watch them cook together, or talk and laugh as they patrolled the clearings. They were also unable to tear their eyes away from each other, but Isabelle herself only noticed this when she was able to look away from her own heart.

Isabelle smiled at the girl standing before her. The scowling, beautiful, hot-tempered, wonderful woman standing close by. “Yes, a tapestry." Isabelle said to Clary. "Imagine there are dozens of strings connected together. Interwoven, or barely brushing, it doesn’t matter. Let the image come naturally.”

"Okay..."

She waited until Clary's frown softened. 

"Now, consider them without colour. Imagine that you're washing the dye out of your clothes. Let them fade in your mind. Not disappear, but...fade."

 At first, there was no effect. Isabelle was about to surrender, when Clary let out a deep sigh. It was a happy sound, one of the most content sounds that she's expressed recently. 

"Did it...?"

"Help? Yes. Iz, you're an angel." Clary beamed, her lips full and pink as she smiled. "It's still there, but, _less_." She wrapped her arms around Isabelle's waist and tugged her into a hug, and buried her nose into Isabelle's collar bone. "My hero, again." 

Isabelle was surprised, and then not at all. She embraced the girl gently, resting her palms against Clary's lower back. "I told you before, Clary Fairchild, you don't need a hero. You do, however, need a hand to hold." She made a pointed move of removing Clary's hands from around her waist, instead linking them together. Their fingers slid between the other's, and everything else blurred into the background. 

She finally found her voice again, but didn't let go of Clary's hands. "You have to connect your gift, your ability, to something you enjoy. You're an artist, yes?" Isabelle asked, but she knew this already, somehow. She had seen Clary trace patterns into the dirt, or line up the colours of the spices while they cooked. "I thought it would help you to visualise the connections." 

“Smart.” Clary murmured, looking at her with a mixture of approval, and something hungrier. 

Magnus cleared his throat, but he was grinning as he came back over. "Very smart, indeed." He cheerfully said. "Someone does their reading.”

Arching an eyebrow, Izzy smirked. “What? Do you think I didn’t sneak a book out of my own as well as helping Alec? Lightwoods don't let other Lightwoods do crazy things alone.”

“Alexander _stole_ books?” Magnus gasped, but there was a delighted, warm smile on his face. “My prince was a secret rebel?” His expression softened into sweet adoration, and Isabelle smiled at his fond look.

She redirected the conversation back to their original purpose. “It was a hunch, but whenever Clary reached out to me, before, it always felt like a thread." Isabelle explained. She looked at the other girl and smiled. "Or a colour.”

Clary nodded, absently rubbing her thumb across Isabelle's. “I was always painting and drawing back in the village." Clary said. Her voice was quiet, her expression thoughtful. "Luke would bring me chalk, and work longer hours to bring me back charcoals and parchment.” She smiled over at the werewolf, who was sitting beside Jace and Alec. Maia and Luciana were taking the current patrol, and Jace was still adamantly refusing to let Lydia leave the warmth of the tent.

"Are we leaving soon?" Clary asked.

Isabelle shook her head. “We wait a little while longer for a letter, and then we leave.”

It was odd. She hadn't thought of her parents in a long time.

A guilty ache gnawed at her bones then, and Isabelle sent a few prayers in their direction...

 

~

“Lords, ladies, people of the Court, please arise for your King and Queen.” A booming voice announced the arrival of Maryse and Robert.

Raphael swept into a low bow, quickly nudging Simon in the ribs until he stopped staring at the books in his arms and bowed too.

Queen Maryse was barely seated before she frowned down at the pair. “I trust there is good reason for such an abrupt summons.” She addressed only Raphael, her eyes briefly flickering towards Simon before deciding that he was unworthy of attention.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Raphael confirmed. He was unafraid to raise his voice, but still, with the eyes of everyone in the Court watching, his legs stiffened as he raised himself to full height. “We have received news of Prince Alec, and his knights.”

An array of excited gasps and whispers echoed around the room. A few were surprised, and others were simply following the crowd. Raphael waited for them to cease before continuing.

“The prince himself has informed us of a darkness fast approaching…”

As he let the practised speech roll off his tongue, Raphael focused on the man standing beside him. He stared straight ahead, respectfully at his rulers, but Simon’s presence kept Raphael focused and attentive. When the time came, Simon carefully opened the book pages to the Cup’s diagram, and held it for the Court to see. Afterwards, he stepped back again, and Raphael knew, with sudden surprise and gratitude, that the boy was being incredibly careful for _his_ sake. He cared. 

Fortunately, there were enough surprises in Raphael’s speech, and their plans, and the prince’s instructions, to silence the King and Queen. Maryse was gaping, and Robert had paled visibly.

Raphael finished his speech with another small bow. “And with your permission, Prince Alec has asked for assistance from any men that Idris’ army can spare, and any army that assisting kingdoms might offer in aid.”

King Robert frowned at this. “For a downworlder war?” 

“A war that will spread into our land, yes.” Raphael said, coolly. “Your Majesty, the Shadowlands cannot contain Valentine’s rule. He will attack Idris, and conquer every kingdom until we are cowering in the dirt before him.”

“Leaving Idris unprotected is impossible. What my son asked for is impossible.” Maryse snapped. She waved a hand around. “Would you ask your people to abandon their families to risk a sea voyage to an island only seen in myths and legends?”

“For my prince, and for my friend, I would.” Raphael answered smoothly.

“Perhaps an arrangement can be made.” Robert offered, ever the weaker bridge between his fierce wife, and their kingdom. “If Alec is indeed correct, then a blossoming war will result in many deaths. For all of us. Sending…let’s say, half the army, is risky enough.”

“We have little time, Your Majesties. We must leave for the valley, to meet with the knights, before the battle. If we have any hope of coming to their aid, we must leave. Soon.” Simon said, urgently.

Gasps echoed again, and Raphael resisted the urge to shield the boy with a hand. He stood up taller, ignoring the shocked expressions of the Court.

“And who are you?” Maryse sneered.

“A bookkeeper.” Raphael answered quickly. “We have begun to plan a route around the Shadowlands. Travelling by foot, and by horseback, will take shorter, but it is too risky, and reckless to a place filled with unknown magic. The seas are still peaceful during this season, but Simon is right. We ought to leave soon, with your permission, and decree, of course,” Raphael said, and he tried to smile.

The Court was buzzing with movement, with men and women talking urgently. There was a war approaching, and the people were afraid.

Maryse held up her wrist. The room fell silent immediately.

“This is Alec’s quest. This is his chance to prove himself a willing successor, and heir to the throne." For a brief moment, Maryse seemed to hesitate. Her expression grew less stony, and seemed almost...fearful. Raphael blinked, and the Queen was back again. "Still, if this is true, then we cannot risk relying on Alec alone." Maryse said. "We cannot rely on downworlders to fight back. Very well. Have ships ready to sail to the island. Bring the best one hundred men with you.”

Raphael waited until the chatters had died down again. He cleared his throat. “There is also another matter. Sir William, and Sir James, have found…agreeable warlock allies. They would like to offer their support with this war-“

“Then they must find their own way to the battle." Maryse cut in. She shook her head when Raphael opened his mouth. "We cannot risk a war on board between our knights and downworlders.” She said coolly, but even Raphael had to agree that this was sensible. Although war often removed differences between races, the knight knew that having warlocks and Idris’ knights on ships together might prove…testy.

“Do you know the whereabouts of Sir William and Sir James?”

“I believe they are taking shelter at an inn, close to the Castle of the Lovelace’s. Perhaps they are still there.”

“Then I suggest you write quickly. There is no time to be wasted.” Maryse insisted, and she raised an eyebrow as if to question why the pair were still standing there.

Finalising the end of the Court session, Robert stood. “I will be meeting my son, and leading the army. We sail in two day’s time.”

Maryse gave a startled sound, and it was an odd one, from a woman so usually composed. She stared at Robert, and then stalked from the room, with her maids hurrying after her.

Raphael was already walking away, with Simon beside him, and he was already drafting a letter in his mind…

~

Robert found Maryse standing out on the balcony.

She was gripping the marble so tightly that the king almost smiled. How often the people would mistake their queen’s concerns for anger. How long had they been married? Long enough for Robert to understand his wife. The woman who ruled beside him was as fierce and as bright as the sun, and although sometimes he would feel a divide between them, they would always have a united front.

Their marriage was a partnership, if not love, and Robert did care deeply for his wife.

“Maryse.” He greeted gently, leaving space between them as he stood beside her. Robert left a hand beside hers, and sighed. The shocking news was still washing over him, and yet, Robert believed in his son, and believed in his letter. The urgent, shorthand was clearly Alec’s, and if it was a question of sacrificing their lives to save Idris, and the people, Robert knew that it was right to volunteer.

“Please, listen…”

“If you die, I will be a Queen without a King. I cannot rule without you.” She said it quickly, like tearing off a bandage. It was a wound she wanted to heal as quickly as possible. “If our children are injured in this war….”

Robert did reach out this time. He placed a hand over the Queen’s, squeezing it gently. “I know.” He said, and he did. The fear for their children had been, selfishly, part of his reason for joining the leaving ships. He would rather die beside his son, and daughter, than live to plan their funerals.

“I promise you, I will do everything in my power to bring them home. Alec and Isabelle will return to us.” Robert gripped Maryse's hand tightly, and took a hesitant step forwards.

After a long pause, Maryse swallowed, and she squeezed back, just for a moment. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Then help put a stop to this war, and bring our children home. I can't bear to bury another son." 

“I promise.” Robert said, and he kissed his wife’s forehead, before drawing back. Maryse ran a hand down his elegant robes, and there was a soft smile on her face that he hadn’t seen in a long while.

She nodded, and her softer side was replaced once more with her royal image. Her expression became almost vacant, but Robert knew there was fear in his wife’s voice as Maryse said, “We must win this war. Valentine could once again tear everything from us.”

“We will win.”

“We must.” Maryse said, grimly.

They watched the sun setting, a deep, bruised purple swimming against the stars.

~

“…and William believed it, can you imagine?”

“I can.” Tessa said, dryly. She was grinning, leaning back against the bench of the inn as she picked at the crumbling cheese and bread on her plate.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Will was grumbling. “I thought it was real. I was tremendously disappointed when the dye rubbed away.” He popped a grape into his mouth, his teeth snapping together as he chewed. 

“But, Will, how did you fall for it? It’s the easiest trick in the books.” Tessa exclaimed. “You dip the tooth into dye, crush it with sand and stone to make it appear aged and ancient, and then pass it off as a demon tooth. I thought you were merchant sons?” She teased. “You’re supposed to know these tricks.”

“The moment I got home, I raced to show Jem, and do you know what he said?” Will waited for an answer.

Finally, Tessa sighed. “That even though you’re an idiot, he still loves you?”

“Well…” William blinked, a little taken aback by her bluntness. He recovered quickly and grinned, a quick, lightning smile that caught and trapped her breath against her breast. “I know that already.” He cast a quick look to Jem, who was already smiling throughout the entire exchange.

Tessa did blush then, not because of her own boldness – and really, she ought to conceal it – but because James and Will were communicating silently again. Whenever they did this, speaking in small smiles and careful nods, Tessa wished she had a translator in their special language.

Although, she was beginning to understand it. Without even meaning to, Tessa would find herself noticing the strain in Jem’s smiles, or the fear in Will’s carefully concealed frown lines. Spending a great deal of time with the two knights had almost made her forget that it was all in the name of the kingdom.

“I said,” Jem’s voice was gentle, but fierce. “, that the tooth belonged to a creature as magnificent as a demon. A wolf. They are loyal, brave animals, with a tendency to mate for life and die beside them. They lack trust, but once it is gained, they will love with unyielding strength. Their intelligence makes them a noble beast, and yes, sometimes a reckless one,” He gracefully arched an eyebrow at Will, and it was a gentle humour, compared to Will’s striking one.

Jem’s lips curved into a beautiful smile as he looked at Tessa. She felt the attention shift, and blinked at the beautiful man suddenly smiling at her. “, but they yearn for freedom, and connect deeply with others.”

There was silence for a long moment, and the three of them ate quietly, and lost in their own thoughts.

Until Will piped up, “I think, like wolves, we should start communicating with howls. Imagine it. Instead of war cries bouncing around the castle walls, there’s Queen Maryse throwing her head back and howling at the moon.”

Jem looked amused. “Do you want us to start regurgitating our food as well, William?”

Will wrinkled his nose. “No more wolf talk. You win.” He said, happily. He clearly wasn’t too bothered to accept defeat as he winked across the table, and then smiled brightly at Tessa too.

“Must we really stay here another day?” Tessa asked, quietly. The inn was less crowded today, but it was only in the hours of the morning, and the rowdy noise often started much later. Still, they had stayed in the inn for many days now, and still, no letter arrived.

“One more, Tessa, please.” Jem said, glancing at her apologetically. His expression was understanding. “If you are uncomfortable, we can leave, but…”

“No.” Tessa shook her head. “You’re right. We have to stay for as long as possible, it’s just…”

“Your prospects. I understand.” Jem said, solemnly.

 Will spluttered, coughing out most of his drink.

Tessa hid her face with her own mug, praying that her burning cheeks cooled. Jem’s words offered no offence, and he looked startled by their reactions.

“Forgive me, Tessa, I did not mean any offence…” Jem placed a hand across the table.

He was about to pull it back when Tessa reached for it, capturing it with her own. Tessa grazed the back of his hand with her fingertips. “No!” She said. “I know you were only thinking of my wellbeing. It’s only that…well, I have no prospects.” She laughed, and the relieved sound made her smile. It was nice to be honest. “I do not expect to be married to a lord, or rise above my current station. I am happy. I have good friends, and I have a bed, and food, which is more than many, and I have…”

She glanced at both of them, and smiled. “I have you two.” Tessa said, softly. She resisted the urge to add a questioning intonation onto the end of the sentence.

Her shoulders sagged in relief when Will nodded. “We’re yours to command, Tess.” He confirmed, grinning, but his eyes shone with a deeper honesty, his dark eyes warm in the early sunlight coming in. “It’s been lovely having you with us. Right, James?”

Jem nodded. “It has, indeed. I sometimes feel that William and I need a…bridge. Someone to shape us apart, but also closer together. Our hearts have been rooted as one since we were children. Tessa, your soul…it matches ours. Perhaps that is too bold to say.” He looked down, suddenly shy.

She was unsure if the conversation was going to breech a secret, hidden meaning, but then someone came strolling over to them. It was the man behind the bar, a tall, thin man with curly, blonde hair and ebony skin.

His warlock mark – fox eyes – were flashing, but his smile was earnest as he placed a letter on the table. “I believe this is for you, my lords, and milady.” He winked at Tessa, and she smiled politely back. “And you are?”

“Someone who wants to fight back.” He assured them. “I’ll be waiting outside.” He turned and walked off, his tailcoat whipping around as he left the inn.

Will tore into the letter, and Jem gave Tessa an apologetic look that she simply returned with an understanding smile.

“Well, well.” Will said, half to himself. He let the other two read the letter, before sitting back, running a hand through his dark curls.

“That explains the warlock waiting outside, hm?”

Tessa scanned the letter again. Its instructions were clear, and yet, she still felt her heart pound in frustration, and…anger?

“I don’t want to go back to the castle without you.”

“Tess.” Will said, quietly. It was his rare, gentle voice that convinced Tessa that they would soon leave her. Possibly, for good, she thought sadly.

“You’ve been given orders, William. By the King and Queen themselves. You are to travel with the warlocks to the valley, to fight with Alec, against the demons, and the army awaiting you…” She trailed off, dragging a nail down the wood.

“Yes. It’s our duty, Tessa. But not yours. You must go home, and…”

_Live_. The unspoken word hung in the air. It dangled for so long that she could no longer stay silent.

“You cannot force me to leave.” Tessa said, suddenly realising this. She folded her arms against her chest. “Will you tie me to a horse and send me off alone?” She demanded. When neither of the knights argued, she added, “Are you going to let each other be parted?”

“No.” Jem said.

At the same time, Will shook his head, firmly.

Tessa pushed onwards. “Who will take me home then? Because I’m sure that you won’t let me leave alone. Really, I see no other solution. I’m coming with you.”

“That is…”

“- dangerous.” Will finished. “Impossible. Reckless. Stupid. Not happening. Insane….” He suddenly stopped, and a dazzling grin wiped away the fear. “Brave.”

“You do not have to.” Jem said, quietly. He didn’t argue, or offer an opinion, but he didn’t need to. There was a certain strength in his grace. His kindness was an armour of its own. “Are you certain?”

Trying to ignore the safer, comfortable part of her that yearned to be home, in front of a fireplace with hot tea and a book of poems, Tessa nodded. She nodded twice more before replying. “I can clean your weapons,” She offered. “I can wash the clothes too, oh, and…and I can cook.”

The offer fell flat when Will snorted. “I like James’ cooking.” He grumbled.

“Fine. I won’t cook. But I can do the rest.” She let out another sigh. “Look, even if I’m useless, I’m coming-“

“You’re not.” Jem murmured softly. He was looking at her sincerely. “Besides, I need someone to make sure that Will behaves himself, and we could use a woman’s touch in the times ahead-“ He suddenly broke off, gaping as his own words caught up with him. A blush began to colour Jem's cheeks. “Not…I only meant…your _companionship_ , will be desirable.”

Tessa was blushing too, and smiling, helplessly.

Will leaned across the table, wiggling an eyebrow at his friend. “Well, James,” He began. “I’m a little hurt that my strong body isn’t enough for you.”

The other knight continued to blush. He held up a hand when Will opened his mouth again.

“Tessa, the choice is yours.” Jem finally said.

Even Will ceased his teases then. He nodded, and there wasn’t a trace of amusement to be found in his words. “That it is, dear Tess.”

They waited until their goblets were empty, and finally, the young woman stood. She addressed the two men clearly, even if there was a tremble in her hands. “Then I am coming with you.” She declared. It wasn’t a choice. Not really. Wherever the two men went, there Tessa would go. They would follow each other, always.

Their answering smiles were clear: _we know._

They swung their bags over their shoulders, and met with the stranger outside the inn. The warlock was cocking an eyebrow, and he looked mildly surprised as they came over. “Well, well, the world continues to shock. If you’re ready, I can take you to the camp. Ragnor Fell has put together quite the expedition group.”

“He has found willing fighters?”

“I’m surprised that mortals are interested in free will." The warlock smirked, but it was without humour. "Would you not force us into battle otherwise, hm?” The warlock’s smile turned dangerous.

Will was the first to speak. He shook his head, solemnly. “The Accords keep peace. They’re supposed to, at least, so no, if anyone wishes to leave the war, they are free to do so.” Will said. “However, this might be a stupid time to rebel, given that the war will affect us all. Save the rebellion for afterwards?”

“Hm. This way, then."

As they rode off to meet the warlocks at the edge of the Shadowlands, Will and Jem fell into easy rhythm beside Tessa. She found herself brushing their arms as they rode close. They were a tiny part of a large puzzle, and Tessa was determined to help.

She only hoped that her friends would survive, and that good would triumph.

~

“Good news." Magnus announced to the group. He had returned from a walk around the clearing with two new things: a bird perched on his shoulder, and a letter in his hands.

Alec rushed over, and with a smile, Magnus nodded to the prince. "Your parents heard our concerns." The warlock revealed, handing over the letter. "Idris is sending reinforcements to the valley, but we have to hope that the seas are calm. They need to make it before snowfall, otherwise…” Magnus didn’t finish the sentence. He gently stroked a finger down the owl’s tip, and then smiled when it nuzzled him.

Alec carefully took the letter, read it, and then passed it around the dying embers of the fire, leftover from the night before. It was in the early hours of the morning and a thin ribbon of mist licked at their ankles. Isabelle and Jace read over his shoulder, and then he gave it to Luke, to Clary, until everyone was filled in on the news. 

“So, at least we won’t be alone.” Alec said, finally, and the sigh of relief seemed to relax the others.

“We never were.” Isabelle reminded him with a smile. She nodded around to the group. It was true. Already, they had banded together as a strange, powerful group. Alec was grateful for his companions, especially in that moment, with the cooler mornings starting to settle in, and the days getting longer.

“Luke, do you think-“

Whatever Magnus was about to say was suddenly cut off, as Clary gave an abrupt cry. She clutched her head, and then opened her eyes. They were wide, and afraid, but then she narrowed them, focusing on something unseen to the rest. “There’s a demon approaching.” She said, her voice strained.

Alec realised, then, that she was focusing her gift, and sensing something ahead of their path.

The forest around them came to life, and Alec felt the magic stirring in the air.

Fortunately, they were all prepared this time, as a small hoard of demons came shuffling into the forest. The creatures were slow, and sniffed the ground furiously as they approached.

Magnus stepped in front, holding up a hand as he whispered, “These demons are Drevak demons.”

Alec quickly dove into the knowledge he had piled away inside his mind. “They’re blind.” He whispered, but loudly enough for the others to hear. “They track by smell, but they’re mainly scout demons. Still, they attack with force.”

“They look like maggots.” Jace snorted. His expression was focused as he stood close by Lydia. She was recovering well from the venom, but her face was still pale, and her sword shook in her hands. Jace covered the weaker side of her body without being asked to, and Lydia looked at him gratefully before turning back to face the approaching pack of demons.

“They do.” Clary agreed. “They also have needle claws, so watch out for those.” She said, grimly.

“May I suggest pairing up? They’ll be easier to kill if they’re separate from a pack. They are weaker alone.” Magnus said.

Alec was already standing by his side, and they exchanged a quick glance. Magnus hesitated, and then nodded, his lips tugging up for a moment into a small smile. “Sure?” He asked quietly. The prince nodded.

The group rearranged themselves until they were paired: Luke and Clary, Jace and Lydia, Alec and Magnus, Isabelle and Maia.

Luciana was already making a deliberate show of being unaffected by her lack of partner. She grinned when a sword glistened in the grass, appearing before them. “Here’s my partner.” The faerie said, and there was promise in her strong grip on the strange, curving blade.

When the creatures slithered over – and they moved with abrupt, lurching movements – the pairs dived into action. Unlike before, this time, the group was prepared and ready. The attack barely lasted a few minutes, despite the lunging demons snarling and biting at thin air.

They were weakened as soon as they were driven apart. Alec sliced at the demons, and Magnus sent blasts of magic beside him. They worked smoothly and quickly.

At one point, Magnus was pressing his back to the prince’s, as he attacked outwardly. The strength in Magnus' body against Alec’s suddenly gave the prince an urgent focus. He cut the head clean off one of the demons, and then sunk his sword into the next one’s underbelly.

Vibrations danced down his spine as Magnus chuckled. “Making a sport of danger, are we, Your Highness?” He teased, before lunging forwards and sparking his magic against the few demons still left.

Alec didn’t turn around, but he could _feel_ Magnus’ curving smile. He shrugged, and then remembered that the warlock couldn’t see his face. “It’s hard not to,” Alec called back. “, when they make it so easy.” He aimed, another confident jab with his sword, and the cockiness was making his chest warm. He felt in control, and powerful, and it was partially because of his partner pressed close to his back.

Magnus seemed to catch this. “I would rather fight revolting demons with no one else, Alexander.” He called out sweetly.

It was the strangest compliment that Alec had ever received. The prince still smiled warmly, and felt his chest tighten with the aching need to see Magnus again. He used this as motivation and cut into the final demon; the final creature in his direction, at least.

Alec spun around, so quickly that he almost collided with Magnus, who had also been in the process of turning – more gracefully – around to face him.

Their faces were suddenly inches apart. Alec licked his lips and watched as Magnus’ glamoured eyes faded in and out, the golden pupils dilated and hungrily watching him. There were no demons, no threats, and Alec let himself take the moment to enjoy the victory, and to enjoy the grinning warlock’s charming smile. It was by no means an innocent smile, but Alec was sure that his answering expression was just as obvious.

“Well done.” Alec blurted out. “Uh, not that you need my praise.”

“I don’t, but I like hearing you say it.” Magnus murmured, running a hand down Alec’s tunic. He coiled his hand in the collar, fisting the material and tugging Alec even closer. “You, too, were…wonderful. Magnificent. Powerful. Tempting.” He placed a kiss against the lobe of Alec’s ear as he whispered, “Thank you for choosing me.”

And perhaps that was all there was to the statement. It was likely that the warlock simply meant it as a gratitude for fighting beside him, but Alec slowly opened his eyes, the kiss still lingering like fire against his skin, and everything became heightened. Magnus was smiling, but it was too gentle, too soft, to mean something so simple. 

“Thank you, too.” Was all Alec was able to say. Still, he made sure to say it, and say it well, before stepping away and surveying the rest of the forest. Everyone had kept to their area, and the demons were all gone, sent to a deeper level of hell, or hopefully, out of existence forever.

Everyone was regrouping, and Alec began to feel worried when Lydia stumbled into Jace’s arms. He lifted her, without words, and Magnus rushed over to check her for signs of injury.

“Here you go,” Magnus soothed the woman with a careful hand, sending a spark of magic into her chest. She shuddered, and then relaxed, and Lydia's cheeks regained a little more colour.

“Your body is still weakened from the venom. It doesn’t like you trying to be a hero again, and so soon at that.” Magnus teased, but his voice was gentle. With Jace’s help, they assisted Lydia until she was standing again, and although she leaned heavily against Jace, she smiled.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Lydia said.

They had been halfway into packing up, for the day’s journey, and they resumed their duties after a brief moment of calm.

“Maia, could you scout around? Report back if there’s anything else ahead.” Alec asked her with a cautious smile. He was still afraid to force orders onto the werewolf, especially when she had scoffed once at taking a turn to cook. He later learned that she had trouble with taking orders because of the man who had betrayed her trust and turned her. From then on, Alec kept his instructions respectful, and his distance. He didn’t want to force orders onto Maia, but he understood her caution.

This was what Alec was fighting for: a world where downworlders no longer had to take orders, or fear to suggest them.

“Sure.” Maia nodded, and shook back her hair before launching into the air. Her transformation was quick, and Alec marvelled at the rippling movements in her animal form as she thudded across the forest floor.

Alec was sheathing his sword once more, when Izzy came over to him. “We’re close, big brother. Another two weeks until we reach the valley, and then…we fight.”

“Yeah.” He confirmed.

“Although,” Isabelle had a thought. “We may need to stay in larger areas. Otherwise we risk losing water supplies, and game to hunt.”

“Smart.” He tousled her hair with a grin.

“I know." Isabelle grinned, cocking her head to the side. "Name me your heir yet?”

Alec suddenly froze. It was an odd, abrupt thought that entered his mind then, and Isabelle sensed his discomfort.

“Oh, Alec, I…” She broke off, reaching for his hand. Izzy's expression turned guilty, and there was an apology in her eyes that Alec wasn’t familiar with just yet. And then she glanced over at where Magnus and Luke were chatting as they packed away the last of the bags.

“It’s fine, Izzy.” Alec lied. He wasn’t sure why it was a lie, but it felt like one. It felt like he was covering up something.

“No, I…shouldn’t have said that. I was joking, but, Alec, listen to me,” Isabelle took his face, gently, in her hands. Her eyes shone with fierce love. “If anyone asks you to change who you are, you say no. Or I will say it for you, until you’re strong enough to do so yourself. I am here. I am by your side, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Alec read between the lines this time. Isabelle was reminding him that whatever happened afterwards, when they returned to Idris, she was going to stay with him. He would always have his fierce sister’s loyalty, and her love, and support.

This did relax him, and Alec found himself leaning forwards to kiss the top of her head.

“Thank you, Iz.” He said, kindly. “And I’m here for you.” He brushed away her hair and settled it over her shoulders. “Even if I think you can do better than that troublesome girl...” He said it solemnly, and then broke out into a big grin when Isabelle let out an indignant cry and beat her fists against his chest.

He jumped back, and Isabelle laughed, still trying to swat at him. He ducked away, well versed in the art of avoiding sibling slaps.

“So,” Alec cleared his throat. He realised that everyone was ready to leave, waiting for them. He walked over with Isabelle and swung himself up onto the horse. He smiled as another horse started to nuzzle with his, and when Alec looked up, Magnus winked.

“Who am I to part them?” Magnus asked, innocently fiddling with his ear cuff.

“Indeed.” Alec agreed, quietly so that only the warlock heard it. The two animals seemed to relax at this, and when the prince clicked his heels against the flanks, they began to walk steadily onwards.

~

The morning sun was high in the sky as it bounced off the calm water. The sight of dozens of ships rocking gently against the waves greeted Raphael’s nervous energy with a greatly needed distraction.

He paced along the harbour and waited.

He repeated the same questions over and over again, asking each servant who passed him if the numbers were correct, if the ships were fully stocked, if the army was truly ready.

_They are, Sir,_ they would say. _Everything is ready according to plan._

It took stepping on-board for Raphael to understand why the lulling of the ship did not fully sooth him. He gripped the railing of the ship, staring up at the masts and watching the material softly sway. He had been on many ships. He had sailed around, assisted with trading over on the islands. The water was not new territory for him.

So why did he feel uneasy?

“Sir, we are ready to leave, at your command.”

The ship’s captain, who was leading the fleet, turned to attention as Raphael stepped onto the helm. The man stood tall and proud, but his fingers trembled against the wheel. “We are awaiting your order.” He said, a booming voice, despite his young face.

Raphael ignored the sickening ache in his gut and nodded. “Prepare to set sail at once.” He ordered, ignoring the anxious desire to wait a while longer.

What was he waiting for? All the ships were counted. All the men were counted. Even villagers had volunteered their services, and filled up three more ships.

Cries and movement swept away his concerns. He turned, watching as the men began to uncoil the ropes and unfurl the masts. Their red cloth, proudly bearing the Lightwood seal, drifted against the pale sky. Raphael watched it until the ship gave its first lurch, and a round of cheers and cries overwhelmed the silence.

From the harbour village, the onlookers waved and cheered as the ships began to pull away. Raphael caught sight of a small boy clutching the railing as he peered out into the ocean. His eyes were wide, and Raphael wondered if, on one of the ships, was his father, friend, or family. How many lives would this war take away?

The harbour eventually grew distant, and as the minutes grew longer, Raphael was losing himself in the sway of the ship, and the cool breeze now drifting across his face. Salty sea occasionally caught his cheek. Perhaps that was why his eyes stung. Surely, the tears were only because of that. Why else would he be sad to leave Idris behind? Of course, his friends and knights were at home, but they were also in the journey they now strived for. He would reunite with his prince, and friends as well.

_Not all of them._

A handsome, sweet face suddenly emerged from his thoughts. Soft, slightly curled brown hair, and a nervous smile began to tug at Raphael’s chest, until the ache became another reason to let the tears fall.

And then, Raphael realised.

_I didn’t say goodbye to him._

Would Simon miss him at all, if he passed during the war? Would he grieve, or look back on their time together with fond memories?

_It doesn’t matter now. There is war ahead. Be prepared._

He turned away from the villages, away from Idris, and away from Simon Lewis-

“Sir! Come quick!”

Raphael spun around. The sight before him was enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

“We found him hiding in the food storage. Do you want us to throw him overboard?”

“Oh. Oh, no. Please. I’m a terrible swimmer, really. I’ll be quiet. You won’t even notice I’m here…”

Raphael held up a hand, silencing the group. Two sailors were holding up the familiar boy as he gazed with wide eyes at the knight.

Even with his head hanging slightly, Simon’s eyes shone bright with joy, and Raphael took a long moment to steady his heartbeat before speaking.

“Release him.” Raphael demanded. He stared down the guards until they let go of the boy’s arms, and he hastily stepped away from them, and towards the knights.

Simon hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it. He scratched his nose, wrinkling it in that endearing way, and then held out both of his arms. “If you’re going to put me in chains, can you mind the wrists? I want to practise the lute when we return.”

Now it was Raphael’s turn to gape. The ship rocked, and the motion seemed to remind Raphael that they were in the middle of the main deck, and likely causing mayhem for the sailors.

Without a word, Raphael tugged at Simon's sleeve. He pulled him over to the bow of the ship.

They were alone as they gazed out into the deep waters. The village was still blurring into the horizon, and Raphael stared at the soft, abstract shapes until he found his words again. He would not let the anger, or the concern, overwhelm him this time.

“Why are you here, Simon?” He asked, quietly. He wiped away the spray of water that landed on the railing. He smudged it slowly, focusing on the darkened wood. He did not look at Simon.

The boy cleared his throat, and his hands drummed against the deck. “You didn’t sa…”

“What?” Raphael frowned, not quite catching his quiet words. He turned to face the boy and waited.

After a pause, Simon mirrored his posture and blurted out, “You didn’t say goodbye to me, so…”

“You stole away…on a fleet, because of that?” Raphael asked, incredulous, angry, and surprisingly pleased all at once.

“Well….all of my friends are going to war, and I refuse to stay behind like a child and wait around for you all to be heroes and fight without me. So.” Simon lifted his chin stubbornly, folding his arms against his chest.

“But…” Raphael trailed off, the words catching up with him. _All of my friends. You all._

Against his will, Raphael smiled, and before he had time to talk himself out of it, was reaching forwards and wrapping his arms around Simon. He hugged him, tightly, his hands gently resting against the nape of the boy’s neck as he embraced him.

After a moment, Simon returned it, and he dipped his chin to rest it in the crook of Raphael’s neck, his nose gently brushing the bare skin there.

That was all Raphael allowed himself.

He pulled back, slowly, and smiled. “Put yourself to good use then, Lewis. The men need assistance with the rigging…”

~

There were times during their journey that Magnus found being beside Alec a joy. He found the prince endearing and challenging, and strong and youthful. He would find their conversations easy, and their touches gentle, but there were moments, moments like this very one, where Magnus wanted to trap them in a single second and devour the prince with hungry kisses.

Watching Alec hunt tested every inch of Magnus’ self-control. He stood, waiting beside the tree as instructed, while Alec withdrew his bow and concentrated on the boar grazing, head down, along the grass. The forest was silent, waiting. 

Magnus, unable to help himself, slid gracefully forwards and leaned in. His lips grazed Alec’s ear as he whispered, “Are you finding it…difficult, to _concentrate_ , my love?” He lifted a hand, and gently ran blue sparks down Alec’s raised arm, brushing his elbow before lowering it once more.

“You know you could just,” Alec wiggled his fingertips for a moment, in a crude imitation of Magnus’ hands, but the smile on the prince’s lips said otherwise. “, magic it dead, right?”

Magnus tutted, placing his hands gently around Alec’s waist, and drawing him back against him. He was careful not to dislodge the arrow, but he gripped the prince tightly and brushed his ear again. “Alexander, really, why would I deprive myself at watching you in your element? Why, I don’t think _anything_ could break your concentration.” He skimmed his hands down Alec’s waist, his thumbs stroking the belt there. Magnus gentle pried a button open, and ran his fingertips down Alec’s torso, reaching further and further until Alec gasped, and the sound triggered a response because he let the arrow go flying. It hit a tree near the animal, startling it off into the forest.

Alec turned around, still entwined within the warlock’s arms, and his cheeks were flushed a bright pink as he narrowed his eyes. “You made me miss.”

“I did.” Magnus shrugged, making little, well, no, attempt to deny it. He smiled sweetly. “What are you going to do about it?” He challenged. His hands were still slipping inside Alec’s tunic, and he slid them out and reached around Alec’s back, pressing him closer.

The prince’s dilated pupils suddenly narrowed. His lips curved into an achingly beautiful smile as he firmly pushed Magnus’ arms away, and then, with growing confidence, stepped deliberately closer. Alec pushed Magnus backwards, and the warlock let him, until his back collided against the nearby tree with a quiet thud. The sound was met with a groan, and Magnus wasn’t sure it was coming from himself, or from the prince. Alec’s lips were parted slightly, and his tongue flickered along the lower lip, dampening it absently. Magnus followed the movement, desperately gripping Alec’s hips now.

“Accept your punishment.” Alec murmured.

“Do you want me on my knees, Your Highness? All you had to do was ask.” Magnus teased, his voice low and quiet. Alec leaned forwards, pressing Magnus more firmly against the tree. The rough bark was a welcome distraction.

“Mm. What if I don’t regret it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

“Good.” Alec grinned finally, and was ready and waiting when Magnus surged forwards and kissed him, deeply. He cupped Alec’s face and took his lower lip between his teeth, tugging lightly, but hard enough to cause a groan of pleasure to escape from his throat.

It was like this for days. Although there was never a need to hide their looks, now it was like asking someone to read from their favourite book without smiling with anticipation. Jace would raise an eyebrow and smirk, and Magnus knew that it would take all of Alec’s resolve not to snap back. That he had to remind himself that this was allowed. Happiness was welcome. The prince was fighting for it. That was his choice, from now on, and Magnus loved watching it unfold. 

Other times, like now, Magnus would drop the softness. He would let the fire in his blood come rushing to the surface. Alec met him with fierce kisses and teasing words, and Magnus would find himself set alight again, and again.

The bond between them, with each passing day, was like adding another splash of colour to a painting. One day, there was soft greens and tender looks, and Magnus would sit by the fire with Alec and sometimes fall asleep beside him. Other days, there was burning oranges and crimsons as they kissed desperately, after a demon attack, or in stolen moments of solitude as they bathed, or hunted. Pinks were in the fingers that grazed his cheeks as Alec held his face, and golds and silvers threaded the air as the moments became stepping stones in their future together.

Magnus would watch Alec swing up onto a horse, and suddenly, he was seeing it for the first time, memorising Alec’s movements and losing himself in everything that made Alec the courageous, complicated man he was falling for.

And it didn’t take a fool to see that the prince returned his growing feelings. How long had it been since Magnus felt desired in a way that lasted more than a night? How long had it been since he been on the receiving end of such earnest affection? Magnus gifted Alec with everything he could offer, and the prince, with a gentleness that went beyond his years, gave it back just as deeply.

They came back to the camp that evening with a handful of rabbits that Alec had eventually caught – Magnus touched up the colour on his lips with some berries as he waited – and Magnus glared at Jace when he smirked. The knight was likely preparing an inappropriate – but accurate – accusation as to why they had taken so long.

Luke called out, “Did you run into any trouble?”

“Yes. Very dangerous demons.” Magnus nodded, impressed with the casual tone of his voice. He sat down beside Maia and met the stares with a cool gaze.

“Did they also mess up Alec’s hair?” Clary giggled, and beside her, Isabelle was trying to muffle her own laughter. 

Jace snorted. “And did they smudge Magnus’ lip- _hey!_ ” He let out a cry when Alec deliberately dumped the rabbits into his friend’s lap.

The prince looked at him blankly. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you saying something?” He asked, and although his raised eyebrow was a challenge, there was nothing close to anger in his expression. After a moment, Alec's lips twitched. He sat beside Jace with a sigh, reaching for one of the animals and slicing at it with neat, strong strokes.

It was always like this, and Magnus realised that it felt like family. It felt warm and safe, and protected. It had been an honour getting to know the men and women around the fire. He not only enjoyed their company, and their arguments and their laughter and tales, but he enjoyed their souls: their essence, and goodness. 

The night left them alone in peace.

It was only when the sun rose, and the leaves blew into the forest, did Magnus realise that fall was fast approaching. The trees were golden-brown and fallen leaves crinkled on the ground. They crunched beneath their feet as Magnus walked beside Alec, down the hill and towards a small lake. They had been sent to wash the tunics and garments before leaving.

The group had already been at this camp for two nights, and everyone was keen to keep riding on and make it to the valley as soon as possible.

As Magnus sat by Alec and helped dip the tunics in and out of the water, and then dried them with a snap of his fingers, he let out a content sigh. It was a warmish morning, despite the crisp air. The solitude of the lake was peaceful.

Magnus folded up the last of the garments, placed them in a pile and then stood up.

“Hm,” He hummed, stretching his arms into the air. His back curved, relaxing the muscles, and Magnus peered out into the blue-green water. His reflection looked back with a cheeky grin. “So,” He looked down at Alec, who had already picked up on his sheepish smile and was raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “Race you to the middle?” He dared. There was a tiny island about the width of a large raft in the centre of the lake. It was about big enough for them to lay down on. If, that is, Alec met his challenge.

The prince considered it for a second, and then as he stood up, he grinned. “I need a fresh change of clothing anyway.” Alec said. Without giving Magnus another moment to prepare, he dived into the lake.

“Why, you-“

Magnus gave an incredulous bark of laughter. He wasted no time in catching up with the cheating prince. He dived in after Alec and cut through the water with strong, focused cuts, taking a deep breath before pushing on again.

He reached the island at the same time as Alec, their hands stretching out and touching the firm ground. The grass was mainly just that, grass and ground, and Magnus thought that perhaps long ago it had been the site for a well, as the crumbling stone around the edges suggested something once stood here, ancient and proud.

Alec stretched out onto the grassy island, and his feet dangled over the edge and into the water. It lapped at his ankles as he kicked, and Magnus regained his breath for a few minutes, lying beside the prince and relaxing.

Something cold brushed Magnus’ forearm, and he lifted it up, fiddling with the dusty edges. “Hm. Riches to be found everywhere.” He said happily, and studied the coin for a moment. There was nothing that suggested its origins, and when Alec turned onto his side to stare at him, the warlock tossed the coin into the lake without another thought.

“Magnus, when this is all over…will you go back to your tower?”

“ _Alec_.” He was shocked by the question, but even more surprised by Alec’s anxious expression. His eyebrows were knitted together, as if steeling himself against the answer already.

Magnus turned on his side, following the dripping water as it made a gentle path down Alec’s nose. He reached out with a hand and brushed it aside, lingering on the prince’s cheek.

He was about to reply, to reassure the prince, when Alec looked away and said, “I don’t expect you to wait until we can be together.”

_Oh_.

Magnus realised then where the fear came from. The future was something that Alec longed for, and feared at the same time, and Magnus knew it because he felt the same way. Years of experience had taught him that each path, each love, was different. With Alec, it was in the small details, and in the big moments too. It encompassed many emotions, and Magnus wanted to explore them all.

After a moment, he asked, “Is there another you desire?”

“No!” Alec exclaimed. He shook his head, shaking water droplets onto the grass. “No, I swear. I only want you…” The prince broke off, suddenly affected by his own confession. It wasn’t a secret – at least not to Magnus - that Alec longed to be with him, but it was a whispered desire to be with him for a _longer_ time.

It startled Magnus, but he tried to conceal his sharp intake of breath. He concealed it with a smile, because here was a man who was trying, really trying, to be honest, and open, when everything told him to pull away.

“Then the future is whatever we shape it to be.”

As they pondered this quietly, together, Magnus thought, reluctantly, of the prince’s parents, and of the nobles and ladies and even downworlders who would frown at their relationship. Indeed, the path ahead was tough, but wasn’t it always?

Magnus smiled when Alec shuffled closer, his soaked tunic warming in the sun. “Alexander, please, don't worry just yet. Even I cannot see the future, and I wouldn’t want to know.” He wrapped an arm around Alec’s waist and held him, holding his gaze. “You and I, together,” He traced the curve of Alec’s cheekbone and smiled. “, can win.”

“You think?”

“Mm hm. Also,” Magnus’ grin turned coy. “I believe I was promised rubies. Lots of rubies-”

He laughed as Alec lunged forwards and tackled him, turning Magnus over so that he was pinned to the grass, and Alec was straddling him in a most un-princely manner. 

“You never wanted those, did you?” Alec exclaimed, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide in realisation. “That _was_ a lie.”

“I like jewels.” Magnus protested. He was very aware that Alec was soaked to the bone, and his clothes clung in all the right places. Still, he managed to keep looking at the prince's face as he replied, “I like wealthy things and pretty things like you.” He winked. “But yes,” He glanced away, suddenly a little shy. “I didn’t really want rubies. Not entirely."

Alec was still on top of him, but he relaxed, easing the tension by settling his legs on either side of Magnus' hips. His weight shifted carefully, but still, Alec didn't pull back. He gazed down, his hazel eyes bright and happy.  

"I meant it, what I said on the bridge." Magnus softly said. "I came for you, for us, and this quest. It felt right to join you. And your fearless warrior family.” He smirked playfully. “And _you_ ," He jabbed a finger into Alec's chest. ", don’t accuse me of ulterior motives. You could have gone to any warlock in the land. You chose _me_.” Magnus let himself turn smug, preening like a cat. “You wanted me, the beautiful, _beautiful_ warlock.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.” He murmured, but his dilated pupils said otherwise. 

"Why, thank you.”

Alec sighed, but he was gazing down at the warlock so fondly that Magnus doubted the sound had any effect whatsoever.

After a moment, Alec slowly untangled himself from Magnus, and lay down on his back again. They were side by side on the grass, but Alec kept his hand in Magnus’, circling his forefinger over the knuckles. His feet still dangled in the water, lulling around.

Magnus let his mind wander. What was the prince thinking about? 

He was likely thinking about the future, as always. What would they have to overcome to be accepted in the land? Would Alec have to give up his throne, his birthright, to love?

Magnus had hope, he had to. With Alec's hand in his, he could hope for a miracle. Although, it was one thing to fight for himself, and for his heart, but it was another to risk a kingdom for it. Did Magnus deserve that? Did the people of Idris deserve that?

How could Alec convince the people that their bond was something strong, something that would benefit the land?

A sudden cry escaped Alec's lips. He sat up, staring down at the water. 

“Magnus did you feel-“

His hesitant question was too late. 

Without a moment's warning, Alec was pulled into the water, his mouth forming a silent scream as the water devoured him. 

"Alexander! Magnus cried out, anguished. He was about to leap into the water, but then a firm grip locked itself around his ankles. 

The last thing Magnus heard was a melodic voice, a lulling, soft, relaxing lullaby.

It sung him to sleep in an instant, and the warlock was already unconscious before he hit the water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NOOOOOOO.  
> Yikes, what do you think got malec???  
> I hope you liked the chapter! Let me know your favourite moments/lines :)  
> I love hearing back from you, and come find me on tumblr - swans-hooks-and-books - or twitter @clockworkswan96.  
> Don't hate me too much!!!!  
> I will hopefully be updating more regularly now, but i have a lot of school work, so please be patient :)


	15. Siren Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Back with another update for you, which I hope you enjoy :)  
> I don't want to spoil this chapter for you, so without any word from me, happy reading!  
> The fic playlist can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc

The sun woke Alec.

Well, the dazzling light that shone in through the low window – and Alec reminded himself to grumpily instruct Magnus to close them next time – woke him.

Stretching as he sat up, the bed creaked lightly. The blankets were woven, earthy colours of browns and oranges, and he smiled at the wonderful sight of their shared bedroom. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. It was a home, and it was their home.

Alec rubbed his eyes, yawning and letting the warm light from the window glow across his chest. It was a gentle, but bright light, and the smile on his face wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

In fact, even the empty space next to him didn’t sour his mood. Alec smiled, knowing fore well where Magnus would be. If he wasn’t in bed, there was only one other place he’d be this early in the morning.

_And it’s certainly not making the bed,_ Alec thought in amusement. He grinned down at the messy pile of blankets, and the creased material, and then shrugged off his own covers with a sigh.

Outside, the village was already busy with morning chaos. It was market day, and everyone was hoping to get the best deals and prices from nearby travellers. Children were skipping around with ribbons in their hands. Those fortunate enough held sticky sweet foods in their hands, if their parents and families had money to spare. Those who didn’t still danced and laughed and wove between stalls, causing mischief and mayhem for the merchants.

Alec’s smile only widened when he leaned out of the window and saw his sister, Isabelle, teaching one of her young pupils how to swing a sword. Living in the cottage opposite, Isabelle was a swords master, and a teacher to all the villagers, and some of the squires in the nearby castles. She was one of the greatest in the land, and Alec watched as she instructed the children in how to attack and defend themselves. The class was taking place in the space between their huts, the lawn, and as the sun shone down on the grassy area, Alec breathed in the aroma of spices, cool air, and cooked meat.

He turned back inside, shrugging on a plain, wheat coloured shirt, with toggle buttons. He sniffed again, and grinned, leaving the room to follow the delicious smell of freshly baked bread being taken from the fire.

The soft, coarse material of his shirt fell against his chest as he tugged the hem down. Alec relaxed into the comfortable fit and finally found the source of the amazing smell. He also found the source of the quiet humming that had been echoing around the cottage. The sound was absent, and gentle, and bounced, just like the owner of the voice did.

Magnus was standing with his back to Alec as he sliced at the warm bread. The rhythm of his cuts were quick and precise, and the melody he was humming was just as jolly, and he circled his hips to the song as he cut the bread.

“Good morning.”

Magnus barely paused. He quickly looked up, half turning to see Alec standing in the doorway. “Alec. Good morning, darling. Be one moment, this bugger of a bread is proving itself rather difficult…” He broke off, cursed, and sliced again.

Alec saw the problem right away. “You’re being too impatient.” He chuckled. Slotting his arms comfortably around Magnus’ waist, Alec cupped the knife hand and gently guided it down, cutting it, softly, this time, but firmly, into the loaf. This time, it didn’t crumble, and a perfect slice fell to the board.

“Miracle.” Magnus cried. He was grinning happily, and the sight so early in the morning made Alec’s stomach ache in the best way possible. He kept his arms around Magnus’ waist, as he watched his husband cut the bread.

_Husband_.

“Uh, Magnus…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind.”

Alec fell back into the rhythm of Magnus’ cuts, and the delicious, overpowering aroma of freshly baked goods, and the colourful array of herbs and spices that Magnus had been experimenting with.

Still, he lingered, again, on his left hand. The simple, silver band fit his finger perfectly. It had been there for many years now. Why did it feel otherwise?

For a long moment, Alec frowned, and he could feel an odd sensation of prickling against the nape of his neck, as thought a slither of cold water was running down his spine.

Magnus sensed his discomfort. Placing the knife down, he turned in Alec’s arms, and looped his arms gracefully around Alec’s neck. His smile was positively sinful. “Now then, let me greet you properly.” He purred, and it was familiar, and good, and wonderful, and…

As soon as his lips met Magnus', Alec forgot about the strange sensation. He became numb to the world around him, tightening his grip on his husband’s hips and pulling him forwards into a hard, deep kiss. The kiss became a guide. Alec clung to the meaning he found in Magnus’ lips, in holding him, and in the gentle way that Magnus tugged Alec’s lower lip between his teeth. He was gentle, and pushing, always knowing when to hold back and when to keep going.

He pulled back, still slightly dazed. “Whoa.”

Magnus tilted his head to the side. “I like that I can still leave you breathless, even after so many years together.”

Alec noted, with gleeful pride, that Magnus’ voice sounded slighter higher than usual. Using this as bait, he made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. “I think I can handle it. Can you?” He challenged.

It was all Magnus needed to push him backwards, until his legs collided with the kitchen table. Alec gasped as Magnus grabbed his hips and lifted him, placing him back down on the low table before kissing him again. The wood dug into his legs, but Alec didn’t mind at all. His heart was leaping into his throat. He barely had a second to gasp, as Magnus was pressing his body, rather firmly, against him. He rocked his hips once, slowly, and Alec let out a shaky groan. It was cut off when Magnus decided that this wasn’t victory enough. He sucked and kissed right over Alec’s pulse point, hard enough to bruise. He would have a glorious war wound on his neck over the next couple of days, but surprisingly, Alec didn’t mind at all. He wrapped his legs around Magnus, keeping him close, and dug his fingers into his hair as he became lost in the lull of Magnus’ continuous, affectionate, passionate kisses.

The sun caught his eye, and Alec squinted, the moment lost for a second or two. Ever the closely attentive lover, Magnus pulled back instantly, looking worriedly, but with dilated pupils, at Alec.

“Okay?” Magnus asked, quietly. His lips were beautifully bright and pink, and his hair was devastatingly messy and tousled by Alec’s fingers.

Alec blinked against the light. Its sudden beam had created an odd thought, even odder than the one that he felt when seeing the wedding band.

“I just…can’t remember doing this before.” Alec admitted. He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish in revealing that he’d forgotten even one of Magnus’ kisses. They were like fire, burning hot and consuming, and yet, even now, Alec was struggling to remember a time before this.

“Come back to me.” Magnus murmured. His expression was open now, and Alec could read the fear in his words. He cupped Alec’s cheeks, grazing his cheekbones with gentle fingers. “Are you sure you’re not just tempting me to remind you?”

“No.” Alec said, surprised by the firm answer. He tried to smile, anxious not to offend his husband.

As he climbed down off the table, and Magnus turned back to preparing breakfast, Alec stared down at his hand. Again, the thin band seemed striking. It was like he was seeing it for the first time, which was even stranger, considering he could remember, with precise detail, the night that Magnus had proposed to him. He could remember crying happily, saying yes, of course, and then spending the night together afterwards.

Yet, the memory was almost colourless. It was like someone had wrapped a cloud around it and drifted it into the sky. Alec tried to grasp it, but it slipped away, again and again.

_Stop being foolish_ , he commanded himself. He was acting like one of Isabelle’s pupils, playing make believe and inventing monsters to slay, and memories to awaken from glass bottles and demons. He was acting…like Max.

_Max._

As if sensing his sudden thought, Magnus turned around again and smiled. “Have my kisses made you forget your plans with your brother? He ought to be expecting you by now, hm? Water doesn’t fetch itself, you know.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll, uh, be back later.” He moved past Magnus, tugging on his boots and heading for the door.

“No goodbye kiss?” Magnus called out, and there was an indigent look on his handsome face. The only thing that gave away his teasing was the way he fiddled with-

Nothing.

“Where’s your cuff?” Alec asked, coming back over to press a quick kiss against his husband’s lips. “You’re usually never parted.”

“Don’t tease me, you know I’m not a fan of those. Showy little buggers, and besides, silver doesn’t work with my complexion.” He smiled, kissing Alec back, and running his fingers down his jawline, tickling the slight stubble growing. “Mm, we must bathe together later, and I’ll cut that for you.” He purred it like a promise, and Alec felt his knees tremble, just for a moment.

He shook his head as he walked out of the hut. What had he been surprised by just now? All he could remember was kissing Magnus.

The ring on his finger had always been there. This was where they lived, and they lived together, happily.

_I’m happy,_ he told himself, as he strolled to the well.

And if that was so, why did it feel like a lie?

Water dripped down from the roof and landed on his nose.

~

The view from his castle bedroom window was, in a word, enchanting. On the one hand, Magnus often saved his stretches for early evening for precisely this reason. It allowed him to see the sunset, and the reappearance of the stars – although he couldn’t quite remember when his love for the stars had begun.

The castle estate was large, but not empty. There were many guests, always: downworlder and mortal friends alike visiting him. In the lower grounds were the schools, a place where warlock children would learn to control their magic, and become leaders and good men and women. Some stayed here, in the castle, while others travelled daily instead. There was always a constant flow of people, but Magnus enjoyed it. He enjoyed companionship and helping others to accept who they were, and who they could become.

There was, however, an even more selfish reason why Magnus enjoyed doing stretches out on the balcony.

Eventually, the heavy, obvious sound of footfall graced Magnus’ ears. He closed his eyes, recognising the owner, and quickly snapped his fingers together. His robe disappeared, leaving the warlock shirtless and grinning, and waiting to greet the lord who had stolen his heart.

Battling the cold was worth it, to see Alec’s wide-eyed expression.

Magnus frowned. _It’s summer_ , he realised. Why did he think, even for a moment, otherwise? He shrugged to himself, dismissing the thought. Besides, he had more important concerns on hand, like whether or not the sudden lack of sound meant that Magnus had succeeded in giving Alec heart palpitations.

“Be a moment, darling.” Magnus called out, pleased with how breezy his voice sounded. He arched his back, slowly, deliberately, well aware that it would flatter his muscles.

Perhaps he should turn around now.

Suddenly, he was nervous, and swallowed down the hesitation. Magnus stood, taking a deep breath to brace himself for the sudden swelling of his heart. He always felt a shift whenever Alec entered, and it was no different tonight. Still, he could imagine it well enough: imagine the blushing, the stammering, or perhaps the confident version instead, the sly smirk, the raised eyebrow and shameless staring. He liked all versions of Alec.

So, when strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled Magnus firmly against his chest, Magnus decided that he also liked the Alec who surprised him; who would interrupt his stretches just to one-up him.

“I wasn’t done.” Magnus said, indignantly. He even went so far as to tut. It was ridiculous, really. After all, Alec could now likely feel his heartbeat against his arms.

_Bugger. My own strategy betrayed me_.

Alec was having none of it. He chuckled and ducked his head, his short hair tickling Magnus’ ears as he pressed his lips to Magnus’ neck. It was bearable, until Alec flicked his tongue out, and then sucked, slowly and hungrily. Magnus tilted his head to give the man better access. They stood like that, under the stars, and Magnus reached a hand around the back of Alec’ neck to hold him in place. Shameless noises escaped from his lips: preens, gasps, groans, curses. He named them all, and then more, helpless in Alec’s arms.

Besides, hadn’t he asked for this in the first place?

Resisting no longer, Magnus was then turning in Alec’s arms, giving him a proper greeting. He kissed him, and then felt arms grip his hips and lift him completely off the ground. Magnus complied with ease, wrapping his legs around Alec’s waist and holding on tightly. He was pressed against the wall, and then they spent the next minutes in heaven.

Everything was perfect. He wasn’t sweating anymore either. Which was odd. Did he absently magic away his sweat? And when had he taken Alec’s shirt off? He was suddenly facing the lovely lines and rippling muscles of Alec's chest, firm and strong, and yet, he couldn’t remember stripping him. It was a nightmare, really.

_Wait_.

When was the last time he’d had a nightmare? Often, Magnus dreamt about his father, the demon prince, or about….something…tearing him and Alec apart. What was it? What fear had suddenly fled from his mind?

This made him pull away, only for a moment, but Alec noticed immediately, lowering him and smiling. He brushed Magnus' tousled hair back, and away.

“Long day?” Alec asked, gently. He had just returned from his own meeting in Idris, and Magnus was always pleased when he’d stay the night instead of returning to the Lightwood castle, or to his sister’s estate further north. As a lord, Alec was kept busy, but he was free to follow his heart as well. His duties were manageable. 

Magnus frowned. Had it been a long day? He was sure it had been, but…the names of his clients drifted in and out of his mind. “Yes.” He lied. At least, it was likely the truth. Sometimes his magic wore him out to this point, so it made sense that he was feeling a little out of it.

“Come, look what I found today.” Magnus suddenly remembered. He led Alec over to the balcony, and gestured to the stars. “Fourth on the right, second row up…follow my finger.” He helped Alec to find it, and then he grinned.

“You found Raziel” Alec cried. They had been searching for the Angel of Creation for months now. It was a hobby that kept them in search of new stars, of new adventures.

“Imagine how awful it must be. Immortality.”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad I get to grow old with you.”

Magnus froze. He suddenly felt like he was choking, and the air became like water, wet and thick and rushing through him.

He keeled over, clutching at Alec. "Help me." He rasped out, and no matter how firmly Alec held him upright, Magnus felt his throat being constricted even harder. 

Shaking his head, trying to dissolve the feeling, Magnus turned, trying to focus on something other than the pain. He met Alec's worried eyes. The hazel swirls were dull, and there seemed to be something missing. They were still beautiful, only...less. It was like sewing a tapestry in the dark, not quite matching up the colours in the correct order. 

The feeling suddenly dissolved. It was gone so quickly that Magnus wondered if he had imagined it. 

“I'm sorry. I don't know what..." He cleared his throat, the fear slipping away. Magnus shook it off completely and asked, "What were you saying?”

“How…immortality must be a curse, right?” Alec said, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around Magnus again. He was acting as if Magnus had never been choking in the first place. His smile had not shifted, but now it turned wistful as he mused, “Imagine it. Watching everyone you love die around you.”

Magnus frowned. The strange, constricting feeling hovered in his chest now. Why did the lord's words unsettle him? Of course, Magnus himself would age. Of course he would die, and die beside Alec. Immortality was not something he had been born with. Some warlocks were born immortal, others were not. It was that simple.

_Wasn’t it?_

He had only loved Alec, and only would. Why would he be alive for any other reason?

_Remember us, remember us, remember us-_

Lute music suddenly began to play itself across his mind. It trickled in like a quiet song. Magnus let it in, and soon saw a kind face with dark skin and a shy smile. He couldn’t quite grab the name, but he focused on the image in his thoughts, the kind man he had once...

“Alec, do you remember someone…who looked…well, who played an instrument? His name was Mi…Mis….something…”

“You’re exhausted.” Alec interrupted. His arms tightened around the warlock's waist, and when he frowned, the tension was almost...anger. And then it was gone, replaced with a beautiful smile that made Magnus' knees weak. “Go to bed. I need to hang up my sword, and then I’ll join you.”

Magnus nodded, feeling relaxed again. Perhaps he really was just tired. It had been a long day. 

“No bow, today?” He called out teasingly. 

Alec arched an eyebrow, his tunic a deep midnight blue under the candlelight. “You know I’m terrible with a bow.” He said, flatly. 

This time, Magnus waited until Alec was out of the room, and then he fled outside, onto the balcony again. He clawed at his throat again, the tightness coiling around his skin like a gripping hand.

Below the castle, the ocean waves crashed against the shore, and although they were peaceful sounds, Magnus hated the sight of the sea. In that moment, he was glad for the distance. The waves seemed threatening, and consuming. Up here, Magnus was safe, and safe with the man he loved. 

By the time he went back inside, the stars had dimmed, and Alec was already sleeping, lost under the colourful silks. His dark hair was short – why did that not sit right with Magnus? When had he cut it? – and he had fallen asleep already, as though he knew that Magnus wanted him to be. It was a strange feeling, but perhaps it was true: Magnus was tired, and cranky, and needed sleep.

Deciding that anything else could wait until tomorrow, Magnus climbed into bed beside Alec, and slept.

~

_Max_.

As soon as Alec saw his younger brother waiting by the well – and rather impatiently at that; kicking the bucket and pouting – he rushed forwards. He was suddenly running, and when Max looked up and saw, he was waiting with open arms. Alec pulled him into an embrace so suddenly that he pulled Max into the air.

“You saw me yesterday!” Max cried, but he laughed as Alec swung him around, his legs kicking out, and the bucket discarded on the grass.

“Yeah, but you’re my little brother. You deserve to fly.” Alec said, and when he lowered Max back down to the ground, he felt a dampness against his cheek. When his hands came away wet, Alec frowned.

“Why are you crying?” Max asked, tilting his head to the side. He picked up the bucket again, his hair sticking up at odd ends.

“It must be the wind.” Alec dismissed quickly. He hadn’t noticed a breeze, but now that he’d questioned his tears, he suddenly realised that it was indeed very cold, despite the sun beating down. It made sense again.

He tugged his shirt closer to his body, wishing that he’d brought furs for his little brother. Max was also only dressed in a cotton shirt and pants, but he merrily jogged ahead as they walked the short distance to the well at the outskirts of their village. On the way, they passed by the others.

How familiar the sight was. Alec could name everyone in the cottages, almost as if they were all chosen to live in this single, perfect place. Rain came only when it was needed, and there were enough animals, cloth and hunting grounds in the forest for their villagers to live peacefully and without poverty.

The castles and their politics were far away, almost in another land. Here, it was home. Here, it was a place where everyone knew each other, and cared and looked after one another.

“Well, well, well,” A voice called out to the right. “Someone finally stopped avoiding Isabelle. Don’t worry, the decorations are mainly done. If she catches you, just say you’re helping me with the ribbons.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

When Jace caught up with them, he patted Alec's arm, and then grinned in greeting down to Max. He smirked at Alec's words. “Promise me you won’t say that to Isabelle. The village dance, remember?” Jace reminded him. He gently nudged Max with his elbow. “Keep an eye out for your brother’s brain, Max. I think it’s lost.”

Max giggled, and the sound was so happy, so full of life, and good spirit, that Alec abandoned his cares. “I’ll race you to the well.” He challenged, and soon they were all sprinting ahead and breathlessly running down the dirt path.

On the way back, Isabelle was dashing down from her hut, with a dozen boys and girls picking up the decorations that were scattered about in her wake. They would giggle, pick up the fallen ribbon or cloth, and put it back in the basket. A red-haired girl from the hut over, who lived with her mother, Jocelyn, and her husband, Luke, jogged over. She came over to Isabelle and asked, “You need a hand there?”

Isabelle blinked, a flush beginning to colour her cheeks. “Not at all.” She declared. 

Clary laughed, and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not a bad thing to ask for help, you know." She teased. She gestured to the bundle in Izzy's arms. "You can be a damsel sometimes.”

After a long pause, Isabelle sighed, and the smile that touched her lips was surrendering, but also warm. “Fine, but only for you, Clary Fairchild.” Isabelle winked. Her boldness was rewarded when Clary blinked a few times, her cheeks tinted with a rosy pink.

Alec was catching up, watching the girls' exchange with narrowed eyes. He watched his sister and Clary interact, stubbornly clicking his tongue against his teeth.  “When did this happen?” He muttered, but quietly, to Jace.

His friend barked out a laugh. “Oh, my friend,” When Alec waited for an answer, Jace's smile turned sheepish. “, a while.” He finally finished, not meeting Alec's stern gaze. “She’s a good one. Clary, I mean. You know that.”

“Hm.” Alec said, making a sound in the back of his throat. Still, he made sure to smile when they turned to greet them.

“Alec, hi!” Clary greeted them with a bright smile, and a voice that was slightly too high, and guilty, for his liking.

“Clary.” He returned her smile, hoping it wasn't too tense. He raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Having fun with your preparations, Iz?”

“Don’t tease me, big brother. I said I would do it myself, and I meant it." Isabelle balanced the basket on her hips. Her hair tumbled in soft waves over her shoulders as she tossed it back and grinned. "As you can see, my determination is the only support I need.”

As she said this, a gust of wind came, and blew the entire basket of ribbons out of her hands. They tumbled in colourful colours of cloth and spread out across the grass.

“Oh!” Isabelle cried.

Already, the young children were running and dancing around as they caught them. One by one, they were found, and replaced in the basket. Alec and Jace were roped into helping, despite their attempts to slip away, but after a while, it became fun. Max made a game as to who could find the most, and after that, Alec lost track of time again.

When he felt a ribbon the colour of a dark ocean settle against his palm, Alec felt the return of that odd feeling from that morning. It was like someone was constricting his throat, or at least, it was the ghost memory of the feeling. It was faint, but tugging.

At once, he wanted to dismiss it forever, or cling to it wildly.

He chose the former, quickly, swept it aside, and turned to Max with a big grin. “I’m going to beat you.” He teased, and the game replaced the feeling once more.

~

Magnus did not dream at all, which was the first thing he remembered in the morning, as he greeted the new day with a frown. And fluttering nerves in his stomach. 

He was meeting with Alec’s parents today, the Lord and Lady Lightwood, as they were having a celebration at Magnus' castle in honour of their daughter, Isabelle's, birthday. He had offered to make the preparations, and everyone had been delighted to attend. 

Magnus had set up a lovely, extravagant banquet in the lady’s honour, and he was losing himself in the colours, in the bright banners and ribbons and silks. He was humming when Alec came into the banquet hall, so quietly that Magnus only caught his movement when he waved.

“They’ll be here soon. Don’t overwork yourself.” Alec warned him. He kissed his nose, nuzzling him close for a moment. “They will love you." He gently promised, his thumb following the bow of Magnus' lips. "Don’t be nervous, Magnus. I promise, everything will be perfect.”

_Perfect_.

And it was, seamlessly, completely, wholly, perfect. 

“How optimistic." Magnus teased, running his hands down Alec's tunic, flattening and smoothing out the lines. As he gazed down, he frowned. "No nervous tics today?” Magnus asked uncertainly. He stared down at Alec’s hands, which were normally rubbing the back of his neck, or rubbing in circles on his thumbs.

Today, they were placed by his sides, swinging confidentially. 

Alec didn't reply, and for a moment, Magnus thought, perhaps, that he hadn't really spoken at all.

There was a goblet of water resting on the table, and the longer Magnus stared at it, the dizzier he became...

Alec suddenly announced, “They’re here.” 

He was right somehow, the fanfare announcing the arrival of his family, and the celebration.

Magnus clapped his hands together, pushed aside the goblet and smoothed out his robes, and jewels. "I need to check on the food and the musicians, oh! I forgot to take down the rather... _unique_ tapestry in the hallway..."

The distraction, once again, swept Magnus out of his thoughts…

~

“So, Magnus, why haven’t you come to visit our castle yet?”

Magnus almost choked on his slice of bread.

“Father.” Alec warned, but his cheeks were turning a shade of red. He sat opposite from Magnus, across the banquet hall, and as the meal went on, he kept hiding his bashful smile. Now, he was stabbing at his plate and glaring at his parents. “You know Magnus is a very busy man.”

“A very busy warlock, yes, I know.” Maryse said, but she was almost smiling, and the sight surprised Magnus, even though he had only briefly seen the woman before. “Still, if… _official_ unions happen, one day, you need our blessing.” She reminded her son, and then stared pointedly at Magnus until he felt the desire to run from the room. “Which means at least a visit to the castle.”

“Mother, please,” Alec groaned, and he also looked ready to flee from the hall. “This is Izzy’s birthday," He pointed to his sister, who was sitting beside him, but Isabelle was simply grinning and looking very pleased with the exchange taking place. ", and not an excuse to interrogate my…my….” Alec gazed across at him for a few moments, and Magnus felt the rest of the world slip away. The lord smiled then. “My beloved.” Alec finished, quietly.

There was enough emotion in it that silenced Alec’s parents. They shared a knowing look, nodded to each other and then Robert clapped his hands together. “Very well, a toast. To my darling daughter, Isabelle, may you know how loved you are.” Robert said.

It was a simple, short speech, but one that captured the sweet moment beautifully.

They all toasted, and became lost in a swarm of playful chatter, conversation and teases…

~

“I feel stupid.” Alec muttered, already thinking about how long they had to stay before it was considered rude to leave. The barn they walked towards was lit up with dozens of candles, dyed with different wax colours as they encircled the place in a colourful display. The ribbons from earlier were strung up, dangling across the wooden beams and colouring the dark sky in streams of pinks, blues, greens and golds.

“You look beautiful, darling. No. More than beautiful. _Exquisite_.”

Alec glanced across at Magnus, who was looking stunning and colourful with his deep blue, silk tunic, and a gold necklace that sparkled under the candlelight.

Reluctantly, Alec himself had allowed Magnus to buy something at the market for him, but as he tugged at his ocean-green tunic, and the array of pretty beads around the hem and neckline, he felt far too extravagant. The material was soft, and warm, but still, Alec couldn’t help but look at Magnus and smile, whereas he glanced down at his own tunic and wanted to hide.

Magnus looked, as always, angelic, and Alec wanted nothing more than to crawl back into their cottage and stay away. But his sister had worked incredibly hard on organising the dance, as a celebration of the final market day, and Alec knew that Isabelle would never forgive him otherwise.

Surrendering with a sigh, Alec rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…hold my hand, and I won’t feel so stupid.”

A quiet chuckle danced out from Magnus’ lips. “Oh, really?” He teased, turning to face Alec as they reached the barn’s entrance. “I think that’s just a way to trick me into holding your hand, Alec. Not that I mind at all.”

The music from inside was joyful and eager to fill the space, and Alec found himself suddenly lightened from his burdens, not that he had many at all. His biggest decision was choosing between flour types at the market, or picking out hunting grounds with Jace every other morning.

How terrible would it be to sacrifice a life like this? How badly would someone have to break their own heart to turn their back on this, on love, in exchange for a life of service?

“Alec, really, try not to look so tense.” Magnus suddenly smiled, but there was hidden uncertainty in his expression. “It won’t be that bad, I promise. Besides, you can dance with me all night, and I’ll shield you from curious eyes.”

“You know I’m not really much of a dancer,” Alec said, but he was returning the smile and reaching for Magnus’ hand. He linked them together, slowly, savouring the warmth, and the casual intimacy that loving someone like Magnus brought him. Alec let his smile grow. “, but I will dance with you. _Only_ you, Magnus.” The words whispered across the short distance between them. He felt them leave his tongue, dipped in sweetness and honesty.

Magnus smiled back, just as happily. “Then let’s go and celebrate.” He squeezed Alec’s hand, and then paused, and instead chose to loop his arm through his husband’s, making Alec laugh again. As he curled his arm around Magnus’, for a moment, Alec found himself gazing down at the wedding band again. There was something not quite right about it. It was, oddly, making his finger numb, as though he hadn’t moved it in a while.

His body stiffened then. From his toes, to his aching knees, to his neck, Alec winced as a bruising sensation washed over him. It was as if he hadn’t stretched out properly, or fallen asleep on hard rocks.

What was even stranger, was that this feeling felt stronger, more powerful, than the faint tingling of the ring around his finger.

“Dance with me then?”

“Hm? Oh.”

Magnus was waiting at the edge of the barn, holding out his hand with a flourish.

Alec blinked in the sudden light, and warmth, of the inside. Had they been inside for long? He swore he’d been standing outside moments ago, but now, there was loud, joyful music swallowing away his fears, and dancers in a circle as they moved and leapt into the air in a series of spins and steps.

From the circles, he could pick out familiar faces. Isabelle appeared in a flash of dark waves and bright smiles, with Clary by her side, smiling widely. Even his parents were standing to the side, quietly observing, but looking somewhat at peace. Jace and Lydia had their arms around each other as they laughed, happily swaying from side to side. There were blue ribbons in Lydia’s braids, and Jace gently rubbed his fingers between one, before whisking her away into another dance, and Alec lost sight of them again.

It was a calming rhythm, with everyone knowing the steps, and knowing the rhythm of their hearts too.

Alec saw the movement, and the colours, and the music, as one big dance. So when he stepped into the circle, led carefully by Magnus, he wasted no time in abandoning his cares and joining in. After all, he had promised his sister to at least try and feign amusement.

After a while, Alec did find himself enjoying the dances, and when he could not, he turned his head to see Magnus beaming, and circling his hips, and laughing, and then Alec would decide that he could easily withstand a few more dances.

Without a moment’s warning, Alec stepped into a puddle on the barn floor.

Only, when he glanced down, ready to easily side step it, he was shocked to see that there was no puddle, or even a bucket. There was just water, swimming and lapping around his ankles. It did not come from anywhere. It was simply there, swallowing his legs, and freezing them with an unbearably icy coldness. It numbed him, and again, his ring tingled as Alec fought to free his legs. Why couldn’t he move?

“What’s happening?” He whispered. His cry was swallowed up by the music, but Magnus gripped his hand tightly, and tugged, and suddenly his legs were free, and Alec could breathe, and move again.

“Alec…can you hear me….Alec, please…..tell me what’s happening….”

Magnus’ voice danced across the room, but Alec couldn’t focus on his face, or the words, for too long. His spine was aching again, and as he tore his hand away, covering his eyes as if trying to block out the-

What was he trying to block out? The dance? Magnus? Everyone?

When he opened his eyes, the dance was still in full swing, but Magnus had quietly led him to an unoccupied corner, and was trying – gently – to make him sit down on one of the stacks of hay. Alec didn’t. Couldn’t. His legs still felt unused, and part of him knew that if he sat down, he would fall asleep, or ignore the thoughts swarming around inside his mind.

He needed to pay attention, but why?

“Here. Have some water.” Magnus encouraged, gently lifting the wooden cup up to Alec’s lips. The liquid was cool, and Alec managed to choke a little of it down, before gently pushing it aside. He stared down at his ring again. He wiggled the finger, and found it, still, numb and seemingly far away.

“Alec, darling, _please_. Look at me.”

At the soft beg, Alec finally forced himself to gaze across at Magnus, but he told himself not to surrender to the gentle yearning in the man’s eyes; not to get lost in it.

_But why?_ Alec asked himself.

“What’s troubling you?”

“I, uh, I…” He coughed again, resting his hand against his throat. He didn’t feel parched. It was actually the opposite. It was like the words were floating away…

“I can’t remember out first kiss.”

The words surprised him, the sudden confession slipping into the air. The music was still loud and the footsteps of the dancers pounded out an excited heartbeat, but Alec felt it fade away, all of it. It was just a quiet, muted colour, and his words were suddenly a weapon he knew he had to fight back with.

Alec felt his desperation widen his eyes. He grabbed Magnus’ hand, clutching it to his chest as he asked, “Magnus, how…when did we first kiss? Tell me. Please.”

“It was on your birthday. Years ago.” Magnus told him. “Do you remember now?” His expression was kind, too kind, and Alec felt the fear slipping away as he latched himself onto Magnus, onto his story, their story, even if it felt…distant. “You walked me home, down the pathway, and outside your parents’ cottage, you took my face in your hands, like this,” Magnus gently guided Alec’s hands up, and placed them on either side of his face, smiling all the while. “, and then, you kissed me. And we have been together ever since, my dear.” He finished.

The memory of this kiss flickered in and out, like the dying flame of a candle. One second, it was there, and the second it was burned out, replaced by a blackness that felt honest, real, against the brightness of the story.

Alec staggered back, and when his back hit the barn door, he gasped. The water was back, again, swimming around his ankles, and slowly creeping higher.

A song haunted his thoughts:

_Come, sweet one, come….let your dreams guide your heart…_

_….let the sea befriend your soul, let it take you away….take you away…_

_….turn away from the light….let us take you away…_

Alec touched the wedding band, shaking his head, furiously. “No. We can’t be married.” He rasped out. “This isn’t real. I can’t…I….” He broke off as Magnus stood before him again, the tears in his eyes burning remorse into Alec’s heart. He was hurting him, and badly.

Fragments of their life together came back, but only in pieces. It was a disjointed puzzle piece, not framed together quite right.

“Sorry.” Alec suddenly said. He straightened his shoulders, faked a smile, and quickly said, “It must be the wine. I need a minute outside.” He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to Magnus’ temple, hoping it would be enough to sooth his husband’s worries. “Save me another dance soon.” He smiled, and before Magnus could reply, Alec was staggering out of the barn.

A voice in his ear told him, _warned_ him, to turn back around.

_Go inside._

_Go back._

He ignored it.

When he was outside, Alec leaned heavily against the side of the barn, and then gasped, the constricted feeling back again. He gagged, and there was another puddle suddenly below his feet.

For a moment, his entire vision clouded. Salt was burning his eyes, and they felt scrubbed raw, burning in agonising pain. He rubbed at his eyes, but the sensation only sharpened, and he was clawing at his throat, half keeled over, and gasping for air.

_Something is wrong._

Then, nothing again.

Alec felt the tears stream down his cheeks, and he let them fall, still clutching at his temples. The night was cool, and even the small fire burning outside wasn’t enough to warm his heart.

He was losing his mind.

_Wait. Why is there a fire in the clearing?_

For a moment, as he stared at the fire, Alec caught more glimpses of another time, another place. There was laughter, and knights dressed in armour and red cloaks, and werewolves with careful smiles, faeries with curving blades, and princesses who turned the world upside down. There was a circle of men and women around the fire, and in Alec’s mind, in his dreams, they would shape the world anew.

_I’m supposed to be there. With them._

The image suddenly sharpened, and it grew so clear that the crackling of the fire felt hotter than anything Alec had felt before. He stepped towards it, using it as a guide, and suddenly, a figure stepped out from behind it. The man walked through the fire with his chin held high, and the grin on his face was almost as dazzling as his scarlet robes, etched with elegant gold patterns.

“Magnus.” Alec whispered, watching as his husband came towards him.

Only, it wasn’t his Magnus. It was another man, it had to be. This version of Magnus was dangerous, and powerful. It was evident from the blue sparks of magic dancing across his open palms, and the curve of his smile as he stood before Alec and grinned. But his expression was soft, gentle and filled with a warmth that swept Alec’s fears aside.

This version…was real. Complicated, human, and so full of _life_.

“But…you’re inside?” Alec said, gesturing to where he had last seen his husband. The barn door was closed, but the music was still dancing out into the night, but it was muffled by the wood, and the loud, crackling of the outside fire.

The Magnus who stood before him shook his head, and Alec caught side of the silver cuffs in his ears, and the sparkle of hidden charm necklaces underneath the collar of his robes. An urgent need to touch him, to grab hold and never let go, almost overwhelmed Alec. He forced himself to stay still, but after a moment, he stepped closer, just one step, but enough to sooth his urge.

“He isn’t real. Neither am I, but I’m _your_ version of me, not theirs.” The man’s robes swished as he strolled forwards, his smile a taunt, but enchanting feature on his beautiful face. “I’m the last hope you have at waking up, I’m the face your heart chose to see in your final moments. Listen to it.” This Magnus, with magic sparking down his arm, lifted a hand, and softly ran his fingertips across Alec’s cheek. “Listen to me, Alexander.”

Alec gasped. “You’ve never called me that-“

Something unlocked inside Alec’s chest. It all came tumbling back, tumbling into his heart like a chest full of secrets. There were good sensations, and frightening ones, but Alec let them race around inside, settling into a place that he hadn’t even realised was empty until now.

Before, there was a void, waiting to be returned. Now, he was free. Whole.

The Magnus who had stepped out of the flames kept his hand against Alec’s cheek, and after a moment, Alec knew what was true.

This was _his_ Magnus. The one he had chosen. The man he would choose again, and again.

“Alexander. I called you Alexander.”

The name stitched a thread inside Alec’s mind, knitting it back to the way it should be. With it, the pain he had felt before suddenly sharpened again. Water was dripping from his hands, and his legs were drenched as water swam up to his thighs. Alec gasped, tried to push it away, and struggled for breath again.

“I’m drowning. I’m _dying_.”

“Alexander.” Magnus repeated, his voice a gentle, but firm guide. “I want you to remember a story. Can you do that for me?” His eyes were now a burning yellow-gold, cat-like, and enchanting. Alec gazed at them, using them as a guide. The colours were captivating. They would be his anchor; his way back.

He swallowed, nodding for Magnus to continue as he tried to ignore the rising water, and the sharp sting of salt behind his eyelids. “I want you to remember the story of a little boy, a prince, who met a warlock with dust on his eyes.” Magnus said, softly. His fingertips brushed Alec’s cheeks, the gesture so sweet, so endearing, that Alec felt his heart leap into his throat. This man knew him. This man cared for him beyond words. “I want you to remember our story, and everything that makes it worth fighting for. You are going to choose to wake up. _You_ have to. No one else can save you. Only you can.

Alec knew this. He had done for a while now. This wasn’t real.

The village he had lived in for years was a lie. His home, his memories, the simple band wrapped around his finger, was all a construction of his hopes, and they were dangerous. They were the reason he was now dying.

Although everything inside his mind screamed at him to take the final step, to wake up, Alec wanted nothing more than to banish it. He wanted to live in peace. Why couldn’t he choose this life? Would waking up mean leaving it behind, for good?

“Why…can’t this be real?” It struck him then, the realisation. The reason why it hadn’t faded was that he couldn’t bear to accept that it was beyond reach. “Why can’t I stay? Don’t you want this too? The real you, I mean? Don’t you want a life with me?”

The flames of the fire suddenly lurched up, and Magnus tilted his head to the side, thinking. He nodded, his expression turning thoughtful, but with a hint of sadness. “Yes. I do.” Magnus admitted. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in a long time. But not like this.” He waved his wrist in the direction of the village, and the barn.

Magnus then took Alec’s hands in his, and unlike before, with the other Magnus, the man before him now held Alec’s hands gently, and without expectation. He was waiting for him to respond, rather than directing him: helping, not forcing.

“What we share, in the real world, is real. Our future will be real. It will be messy and tough, but we will make it. You just have to trust us.”

Alec was crying as he peered back into the barn, at the colourful happiness he knew was waiting inside. It was fading already, details slipping away like ghosts.

_They were never there,_ he reminded himself.

“I can never marry you.” Alec whispered. “Or walk down this village again, with my brother,” He bit back a sob, hating that he hadn’t memorised his little brother’s smile for the last time. This was the last time he would see Max, even if it was simply a crafted image. It was something at least, and Alec was angry then, furious that his heart had been used as weapon against him.

He was furious enough to ignore how his eyes burned, and the water was almost up to his chest now, tilting him as he stood.

“I can never dance around the fire with you.” Alec whispered. It was an awful thought, and one that had kept him from shaking away the dream. He knew it wasn’t real, he did, but he couldn’t bear it. When he woke up, there would be no village to walk down, and a prince and a warlock would not be able to dance before their people.

_One day._

_One day._

He repeated this to himself, forcing it to turn from false hope, to a dream: a dream that could, unlike this one, become true.

Magnus shook his head, the silver cuff catching the light of the fire’s embers. He was lit up, burning with a realness, a _sharpness_ , which captivated Alec. He was real. Alec ignored the barn’s music, and listened to Magnus’ voice instead.

“We have danced already, remember? And we will dance again.” Magnus said, prompting Alec to remember the night they had shared at the Seelie Court. It flooded back, and unlike the water around his chest, this memory was peaceful, and didn’t cause him harm. “We will be together. That is enough. Want it too.”

“It’s more than enough.” Alec said, finally, meaning it this time. “And this can be a reality. If I…believe that I can wake up. If I’m strong enough.”

“You are.”

The words echoed inside Alec’s mind, and he realised then that there were layers to it; like Magnus was speaking, but someone else was too.

_It’s you_ , he thought. _You’re saving yourself._

As if confirming his thoughts, Magnus beamed, his lips looking fuller, and softer by the minute. His eyes widened, and the scarlet robes seemed suddenly brighter. He was coming back to life.

_No_ , Alec realised. _I’m coming back to life. I’m seeing the truth._

“Be brave. Live.” Magnus pressed a gentle kiss to Alec’s cheek, barely a graze, but he gasped, and suddenly, he was falling.

There was no ground beneath his feet, only cold water, swimming around his ears, his face, his entire body. It consumed him, and then, he moved. Alec pushed out with his arms and parted the water. It was like pushing down a heavy door, but Alec kicked out, and although he was underwater, there was suddenly light, towards the surface.

He kicked again.

Pushing with his aching muscles, Alec pulled at the last of his strength and kicked once more, surging towards the surface, towards the light, towards freedom…

~

The night was going well, Magnus thought happily. The celebration of the Lady's birthday was a joyous affair, and Isabelle looked beyond delighted when he presented her with his gift: a custom-made necklace with a ruby he had kept safely from one of their ancestors, long ago. Even Alec’s parents seemed pleased with this, and after their conversation at the banquet, Magnus felt unafraid for the future.

Musicians entered the hall, and the dancing began. Others stayed seated, enjoying the food still, or enjoying quiet conversation. It was a merry evening, and Magnus sat back and welcomed the lavish foods, dancing and more importantly, the company surrounding him.

There was so much _noise_ ; light, colour, raised voices, happy cries, and Magnus kept turning his head to take everything in. The moment was…perfect. He could see nothing wrong with it.

He paused, and frowned. Why was he _looking_ for something wrong?

It had been a sub-conscious action, searching for something out of place, but now that the idea was in his mind, Magnus couldn’t budge it...

~

The concrete wall dug into his back, but Magnus didn’t mind, at all, if it meant he was able to lean his head to the side as Alec planted slow, teasing kisses down his neck. He reached around Alec’s back and rested his hands there, spreading his palms across the lord's hips. When Alec’s kisses became harder, fiercer, and sucked over his collar bone, Magnus made sure to dig his fingers in just as hard.

Magnus suddenly blinked. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten how they arrived here. They were in the corridor, just outside the banquet hall, where the celebration was still continuing. They were kissing, and rather obviously as well, with no regard for secrecy.

This was what stopped Magnus’ train of thought.

Carefully, he pushed Alec away. “Alec,” He began, quietly. “How did…?” He trailed off, still hesitant, and feeling imbalanced. It wasn’t simple because Alec was gazing down at him so hungrily, but because he felt unstable; without focus.

Magnus couldn’t remember leaving his seat at the table, or finding Alec in the crowd, or starting to kiss his lover as they fled for privacy-

“Magnus, please, stop thinking.” Alec warned with a grin, and kissed him, deeply enough for Magnus to lose all track of thought once more. “Don’t you want this too?”

“Yes, but…anyone could see. Remember your duties, my dear.”

Alec shrugged, his smile careless. “Someone else can have them.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. Magnus suddenly held out his arms, resting his hands on Alec's shoulders to keep him in place. When he spoke, Magnus felt like he had to pull out his words from the pit of his stomach. They were almost under lock and key, buried so deeply that it pained him to speak them. 

“I think…part of me has always wanted you to say that, but…I would never ask you to. Give up your responsibilities." He explained slowly. He didn't meet Alec's gaze, because he knew he would become lost in them. Instead, he gazed down at the floor, at the simple, rigid lines of the tiles. "You’re a loyal man, Alec, I won’t take that from you…” He frowned. Again, something didn’t feel right.

“Let’s go back inside.” Alec begged, tugging him into the hall again. Still, Magnus was lost in thought, still trying to sense a shift, an out of balance one. There was music playing, but a different melody sung in his ears.

It was soft, barely a whisper, but it haunted him:

_Come, sweet one, come….let your dreams guide your heart…_

_….let the sea befriend your soul, let it take you away….take you away…_

_….turn away from the light….let us take you away…_

“Can you hear that?” Magnus asked. He gasped.

Suddenly, the lights were dimmed, the candles blown out, and the room shifted, turning in on itself. He cried out, closed his eyes, and…everything was okay again.

Alec was holding him up, and Magnus clung to him desperately.

One of the little girls dancing across the hall turned, and looked at him, smiling. There was water dripping from her dress, a cascade of dark, dirty blue. She was soaked, and when she smiled, there were sharp pointed teeth grinning wickedly at him. _“Come with us…”_ She sung.

With all his strength, Magnus pushed away from Alec, focused on the sound of his own heartbeat. He relied on himself, on his spark of blue magic, and the sound of the waves nearby, somewhere.

As he ran outside, he took the steps quickly and then kept running, until the edge of the forest beside the ocean was in sight.

In the forest, a light suddenly came out, shyly, dimly, but there. It hid behind the trees, and Magnus found it the only real thing then. It was soft, and flickering, but it wasn’t perfect. It didn’t have the false vibrancy of his castle, or the loud laughter of the guests.

The light was a hazel colour, and it was all Magnus believed in.

In that moment, it was enough to tug his memories back into place.

The water was real. He was drowning.

_Save yourself,_ a hidden part of his mind begged.

“You said you’d never leave me.” Alec was suddenly there, but it wasn’t his Alec, it wasn’t the prince who was shy, and fearful, and hopeful and brave. This Alec wasn’t the man he was falling in love with. The details were there, and Magnus clung to them. He had no dimples, and his hair was too short, and his eyes not bright enough. Not even dark, powerful magic could capture Alec’s eyes. They were a unique beauty. A _real_ beauty.

“You promised we could be together. Here, we can. This is our life together. It’s real.” Alec said, and he came forwards, holding out his arms.

Magnus forced himself to stay back, to think of his heartbeat, his need to wake up, and the hazel light reminding him that he was strong enough. He could save himself. “You’re Alec, but…you’re not my _Alexander_.” He let himself touch Alec’s cheek, and it was scaly, and not quite soft enough. “I have to let you go. I have to let this dream go.”

“We can’t be together?”

“We can.” Magnus insisted. “But not like this. This isn’t us. You’re not someone who would abandon their responsibilities. We will find a way, and it will be real.”

The dream Alec’s face crumpled, and whether or not the dream dissolved, Magnus knew he would find that lingering sorrow haunting his dreams. He would always remember the sad look in this Alec’s eyes, and the way he extended his arms, reaching, and Magnus refused to step into them.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a flash of movement, and a crown, and the hazel light, guiding him into the forest.

Magnus was stepping into it, his feet crunching against the brown leaves – of course, it was fall now, not an eternal summer – when Alec called out.

“Stop. If you go in there, it will mean death, for everyone around you. Stay with me. Be mortal with me, and no harm will come to the ones you love.”

Magnus couldn’t bear the cruelty anymore, the goading. He was being tempted with their protection, they were latching onto his compassion, on his kindness. Whoever, or whatever, was casting this spell, or magic, was cruel in their attack. His heart was breaking, but still, Magnus turned and ran, the tears streaming down his face as the other Alec called out, “Magnus, please, don’t leave me alone here.”

As soon as Magnus faded the voice into silence, he knew what was happening to him.

He knew what was creating this dream, besides his own desires.

_Wake up,_ he commanded himself, as he ran deeper and deeper into the forest. Branches snagged on his robes, but it only motivated him to run faster.

“Wake up!” Magnus cried out, his voice booming and echoing around the forest. He focused on the power building in his veins, the magic returning to life, as he fought against the other power. He could feel it, feel _them_ , in the water around him, trying desperate to clutch at the last of his weakness; the last of his dream.

_No more lies. I only want the truth._

_I want to live, and I want to love._

The thought consumed him, and became so strong it was almost a physical presence.

It created the image of a hand, reaching out, and Magnus reached out, pushing with all his might against the magical force keeping him asleep, and grabbed onto the hand…

~

Bursting through the surface of the water was easy.

Alec gasped for air, clutched at his throat, and kicked desperately at the claws digging into his ankle still. He felt weak, but whether it was from the dream, or the creature’s control, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to wait around and find out either.

They were close to the island. Alec could see it a short distance away, and when he blinked the water out of his eyes, and squinted, he could see a figure blasting blue sparks into the water.

_Magnus_.

He was alive. Safe, fighting, and alive. For now.

Whatever creatures were attacking them, had clearly pulled them in different directions of the lake. Magnus was circling the island, sending pulses of magic around. It was so strong that Alec could feel it in the water itself, the tremors of his power rippling like the lake.

Below surface, the creature suddenly let go, and Alec didn’t linger a moment longer. He tore through the water with quick strokes, fighting against his aching muscles. His throat was still raw from the water he had swallowed, but he kept swimming, until he saw the island becoming closer and closer.

“Alec!”

Magnus’ cry cut into the air, and Alec tried to shout back, to nod, or to offer a quick smile, or anything, but he could barely stay awake, let alone swim.

He looked back up in time to see Magnus standing by the edge of the island, gazing in his direction. His eyes were de-glamoured, and when he raised his hands, the magic that formed between them was a bright, burning blue, that suddenly shot out, rippling like ribbons across the lake. It washed right over Alec, and carried on, until the entire lake was covered in rippling magic; Magnus’ magic. His power was clear in the sudden, unearthly cries that Alec couldn’t hear, but could feel. It took him a long moment to realise that they came from underneath, from underwater.

The creatures had felt Magnus’ power, witnessed its dare, the challenge in his display, and they had fled.

When Alec reached the island, his hands slipped as they tried to grip onto the ground, and he licked his lips, trying to call out for help, but then a pair of strong, careful arms gripped him, and tugged him upwards, completely out of the water.

The morning sun was still high in the sky, and as it shone down on him, Alec trembled, still regaining his breath as he tried to keep his eyes open. His head titled back, and suddenly Magnus was there, helping him to sit up, and brushing the damp hair away from his forehead.

“Alexander.”

“Hi.” Alec said, weakly. The hoarse, scratchy voice hardly sounded welcoming, but the small smile that Magnus gave him was enough for Alec. He soaked it up, the moment, the tiny victory of another day’s adventures.

When he coughed up some more water, Magnus was there to hold him, and rubbed soothing circles into his back. When he sparked his fingers, Alec quickly held out a hand to stop him.

“No. You…used a lot up earlier, right?”

“I don’t care. You’re hurting.”

“Magnus, please.” Alec shook his head, but his eyes were still sore from the water, and he ended up blinking more droplets into them. He groaned, and Magnus quickly danced a hand across his forehead. Before he could stop him, the warlock had taken some of the pain away, and although Alec tried to thank him, he ended up grimacing instead.

Magnus’ robes were equally soaked, which made Alec realise that he must have been under the dream too.

“What were those creatures?” Alec asked quietly, as they sat together, recovering from the sudden attack.

“Sirens. Ghastly creatures who like to…tempt others. Well, drown them, but they like to place their prey under visions: plucking their heart’s desires, and wishes, from their thoughts, and creating a new world for them. They are buggers.” Magnus cursed them angrily, but the raw hurt in his expression told Alec that he was in pain. “They pretend to create a perfect world, and their preys succumb to it, not even aware that they are dying. Sirens take their time. They are slow killers.”

“Why did they attack us?”

Magnus was quiet. Too quiet. He looked away, wrapping an arm around his torso as he kept his expression vacant.

Only after a long pause did he sigh, and turn back to Alec. There was a deep sadness in his eyes now, and they were back to their hidden colour; dark and sorrowful. “It was my fault, Alec. I’m sorry. Sirens are summoned when someone tosses a sailor’s coin into waters, or begs for someone to hear a hidden prayer.”

Alec recalled the coin that Magnus had been toying with before the attack. He had thrown it nonchantly into the lake moments before the sirens arrived.

Footsteps suddenly broke the silence, and when someone called out their names, Alec turned to see the rest of the group, standing by the edge of the lake. Clary was pointing furiously, and Isabelle had her hands cupped around her mouth. There was a pile of clothes, and blankets in their hands, and when Magnus snapped his fingers and created a portal, Alec knew it was time to leave, to warm his frozen body.

As they stumbled back to the edge of the lake, Isabelle was instantly there to reach out and steady him. She wrapped the furs tightly around him, gently turning his head to the left, and then to the right. “Oh, Alec.” She said, softly. “I thought we didn’t make it in time.”

“How did you know we were attacked?”

When Clary smiled sheepishly, and turned away, Alec had his answer.

“You sensed the magic.” Magnus said, and although he sounded exhausted, his smile was proud. “Well done.”

Alec pulled the furs tightly around him, and squeezed his eyes shut. He was still feeling weak from the attack, and from the cold water that had seeped into every inch of his clothes. When his legs suddenly wobbled, he stumbled, falling forwards. Once again, Magnus caught him before he could fall, and when he sent a wave of magic across Alec’s skin, warming him, even the prince didn’t argue this time.

The group still had their swords out, as they faced the lake, waiting for anything that might follow them.

“They can’t leave.” Magnus told them. “Sirens are water-bound, I swear. Besides, I imagine they are…severely weakened.”

Alec watched as Magnus glanced away again. Was he ashamed of his power? Did he think that the prince would feel frightened by a man who had simply defended his own life, and someone else’s?

Jace offered the prince a smile, and it shook at the edges. Still, his friend hid his fear and inclined his head in the other direction. “I suggest we return to camp then. You two need to warm up, and there’s a fire that’ll do just nicely.”

The others agreed, and as they headed up the hill again, Alec sucked in a couple of long, slow, deep breathes, steadying himself for the short, steep walk.

“Not a chance, Alexander.”

“What? _Oh_ -”

Without a word of warning, Magnus had bent his knees, leaned in, and scooped Alec into his arms. He had one arm around the prince’s legs, and the other around his neck, brushing the top of his spine as his fingers gripped him gently, but firmly. He picked him up with ease, and Alec almost smiled when he noticed that his long legs were dangling over the edge of the warlock’s arms. Still, he was too tired to argue, and so, when Magnus arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to argue, Alec simply shrugged and wound his arms tightly around Magnus’ neck, letting him carry him up the hill without a fight.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Magnus warned him, when they were halfway up the hill. “And yes, as soon as you’re warm, you can stubbornly prove that you can also lift me.” He chuckled, and the vibrations in his throat ticked Alec’s fingers.

“Good.” The prince mumbled, but he hid his smile in Magnus’ collar bone, his voice muffled as he replied.

Just before they reached the clearing, Magnus gently lowered Alec, until the prince was standing again. He smiled, walking side by side over to the fire.

The morning ride had clearly been delayed, and Alec was grateful just to sit down beside the fire, and gather up his wits, and strength. He pulled the furs tightly around him and shivered, only smiling when Magnus came to sit beside him. They shared the log, and the warmth of the fire, as the others began to unpack, and set up the tents. It was a shared agreement that they were briefly extending their morning, or perhaps, even, day.

Alec wanted nothing more than to leap onto his horse, and follow the others across the land until they reached the valley.

_You’ll be no use to anyone unless you rest,_ he warned himself. He smiled and nodded when Jace, and then Isabelle, and then Lydia, came over to check on him, but only when they left did Alec turn to Magnus and rest his head on his shoulder.

After a moment, Magnus let out a slow sigh, and the tension eased out of his shoulders. He leaned his head against Alec’s, and with a quiet concentration, gently plucked Alec’s hands from his lap and held them in his own. When he began to slowly rub them, and then hold them tightly, Alec realised what he was doing. The prince smiled, his cheeks regaining some colour as he flushed.

“We were together. In the siren's dream." Alec said, quietly. He felt like it was something to be shared. "I know we are now, but…it was a lot simpler. Easier.”

"I see."

Magnus was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, he seemed to be bracing himself against the worst. “Are you glad you woke?”

He was really asking, _did you choose this willingly?_

Alec nodded, slowly unfurling their hands. "Yes. Are you?" It was now his turn to run his fingertips down Magnus' open palm, tracing the lines gently. 

Magnus watched him quietly, watching Alec's movements with a carefully guarded expression. He was still; observing, rather than moving, and it was an odd sight to see, for a warlock who danced and moved and lived inside the rhythm of life itself.

_He's afraid,_ Alec realised then. He kept tracing patterns into Magnus' palms, before curling the fingers into fists and wrapping his own hands around them. He kept them together, a promise without words. 

_It will be okay. We will be okay._

At the lake, Magnus had saved his life. If Alec could repay the favour, he would. He would spend a lifetime making a promise to protect him, knowing with ease that Magnus would do the same. 

“The only future I want is with you.” Alec promised softly. "I'm sorry it took being almost drowned to tell you that." He welcomed the tenderness in his voice. It pushed away the shattered dream, the false world. There was only this, only now, only the two of them making a choice. 

“Even angels have flaws.”

Magnus' teasing voice returned, and Alec hid his sigh of relief. Magnus smirked, his voice playful. He was still holding Alec’s hands in his, resting them together in his lap. Their clothes were almost dry now, and the deep red of his robes was like sweet wine.

Alec shivered again, against his will, and Magnus began a series of gentle moves that stole Alec’s heart all over again. Firstly, the warlock grazed each one of Alec’s knuckle, almost as if in wonder, and then brought each finger up to his mouth. He kissed the tips, and then moved on to the next, holding Alec’s gaze all the while. For a man who had lived a long time, he looked young in the light of the fire. He looked eager and sweet and hesitant. The brightness of his eyes held their usual power, and Alec was enchanted all over again.

When he kissed the final pinkie finger, Magnus smiled, lingering on it for a long, sweet moment. “Are they warm yet?” He murmured, the smooth, velvet quality returning to his voice.

“Very.” Alec mumbled. After a near touch with death, he suddenly felt bolder, and cleared his throat. “Well, actually, my cheeks are cold.”

“Really?”

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Mm.”  He stared pointedly into the fire, trying to calm his heartbeat. Was he pushing too far? Or simply being brave enough to ask for more?

Magnus seemed more than happy to take the prince’s face into his hands. With a quiet sigh escaping his lips, he placed a kiss on each side, brushing them tenderly across Alec’s cheeks, before pulling back. He sat closer now, the distance between their faces barely a feather’s width. Magnus smiled. “Better now?” 

Alec smiled drowsily and nodded, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “And you?”

“I’m fine, Alec. Thank you."

Arching an eyebrow, Alec let his smile turn mischievous.  “Your lips look pale. And dry." He leaned forwards. It was unusual for the warlock to miss hints, but still, Magnus licked his lips, slowly flicking his tongue out to dampen them. 

"And now?" Magnus asked, his face a mask of innocence.

_Really?_ Alec thought. He hid an eye roll. If the warlock was playing a game with him, Alec was about to get very impatient. He had earned kisses, and if it meant he had to spell it out, he damn well would. 

"Still cold, i'll bet." Alec cleared his throat, soaking up the fire's warmth before asking, "Do they need royal treatment?"

Magnus' eyes widened. As soon as the words were spoken, his expression turned to shock, and then delight. A beautiful bubble of laughter escaped Magnus' lips, and he held out a hand, trying to silently apologise as he chuckled.

Alec was about to bury his face in his hands - _really, what kind of line was that?_ \- when Magnus reached out and tilted his chin back up again. 

"Oh, forgive me." Magnus murmured, still with laughter in his voice. "That was...charming."

"It was dumb." Alec said flatly. He was regretting the attempts at flirtation, when Magnus gripped his chin more firmly, and tutted. 

"No. It wasn't."

"It's just...you're so good with words, and I'm..." Alec broke off with a sigh, letting his vulnerability show. If Magnus could share his concerns, then Alec could reflect his own. _I'm a mess_ , he wanted to say. _Words aren't easy for me._

“You’re doing a lot better than you think.” Magnus told him, his grip becoming gentle again. He shifted closer, his robes brushing across Alec's arm. He watched as the warlock's lips twitched, and he held up a finger to touch them. “You are right, though,” Magnus remarked, casually. “My lips are frozen. They need heat.”

"You have magic, don't you?" Alec challenged.

The warlock shrugged. "I do, but there are better ways to warm up, hm?" 

Alec didn't fight it anymore. He closed the distance between them, cupped Magnus' jaw, and kissed him, slowly. It lasted for a long moment. Instead of pulling back, Alec left his lips over Magnus', sharing the warmth. He wet Magnus' lower lip with his tongue, sliding it across and melting into the embrace. When Magnus sighed, the breath of air shaped its way between their lips. 

When he gazed down, he was reminded of something in the siren's dream. Something that would haunt him for a few nights at least, or more. 

Alec stared down at the bare spot on his forefinger. “I can still remember it. We were married."

Magnus didn't flinch back, but he did make a small sound in the back of his throat. His eyes widened. "We were?"

"Yeah."

Magnus glanced away, and although he was still smiling, his forehead creased with tense lines. “You should take a short sleep." He said, after enough time had passed for Alec to feel sleepy again. "I’m sure we’re going to ride out soon." Magnus climbed, reluctantly, to his feet, holding out a hand for Alec. He took it, squeezed it, and smiled as they stood. "I’ll check the wards, and then rest too.” Magnus added when Alec’s eyes narrowed.

Alec turned towards the tent. He was about to leave when Magnus caught his left hand. He gazed down at it, rubbing the bare spot between his ring finger. He stared, his expression hauntingly sad. 

He was about to speak, to comfort the warlock, when Magnus raised his eyes to meet Alec's. His smile was hopeful, and the power behind it was mesmerising. “One day, you’ll be free to wear a ring like the one in your dream." Magnus firmly vowed. "I promise you that. I’m very old, and very powerful." He winked, but the gesture was soon replaced with quiet joy again. "I know a good cause to fight for when I see one, and that ring, Alec, can win wars, battle a thousand men and see a thousand sunrises. You’ll have the future you deserve. I believe that.”

He was about to let go, angling his body away, but this time, Alec was the one to hold on. He gripped Magnus' hand, waiting for him to turn back around. When he did, Alec took a step forwards and let his smile grow. 

“I only want it with you.” Alec confessed, quietly. "That future." He saw the warlocks flash of hesitation, but he didn’t lose his smile. “I get it." Alec said, letting the warlock's concerns shape his words. "You want me to be free. For some reason you want me to keep my options open, in case I change my mind. But I told you. I want _you_. I want our future. So, go and strengthen the wards, and I’ll sleep, and when I wake tomorrow, I’ll still feel the same way. And the day after that." Alec promised. He took another step closer and reached for Magnus, lifting his free hand to graze his fingers across his cheek. Magnus had done this in his dream, and now it was real, and he was sharing the only thing he truly knew how to give: loyalty.

"And one day, you, will realise that you deserve this future too. Goodnight, Magnus.”

Without another word, Alec turned, and headed towards the tent. 

He had fought enough for one day. 

~

As Alec stepped into the tent, Magnus busied himself with adding stronger wards, and regaining his strength. His magic was weakened, but still there, always keeping him constant company.

His latest companion was Alec's words. They had taken Magnus not only by surprise in their promises, but in the strength of their vows. How many times had others promised him a lifetime, only to pull away and leave him scarred, and heartbroken? How many times had he given, and given so much, only to lose it all in the end?

Alec's words were something new. Something coloured in hope and a powerful reminder that sometimes, if you were lucky, love would come along when you least expected it. 

Magnus had felt love before, but this, the _fullness_ of it, of his heart, and his feelings for the prince, were untouchable. 

When he was done fixing the wards, Magnus looked up at where the stars would shine later that night. He saw their faces, as he always had done, and always would. They smiled back.

_We know_ , they said. _Don’t fight it. Let it in again. It is always worth it._

He thought about the prince’s words.

Magnus closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he thought with fearless certainty: _I’m falling in love with you, Alexander._

It was always a choice, to love. 

Later, as he fell asleep inside the warmth of the tent, Magnus couldn't wipe the smile away. 

Alec had chosen him. Chosen love. 

And suddenly, with quiet realisation, Magnus wasn't afraid anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super fun to write! It was basically an AU within an AU!  
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts/lines you liked :)  
> I really wanted to show how although their dreams were 'perfect', they could never come true, and they had to realise that, and choose to live, rather than succumb to a spell. They had to save themselves *awww* <3  
> There will be more plot development next chapter, and soon, the battle, and more action! We're coming up about 3/4 of the way through the story i think, so i'm excited to share the rest with you :) xx


	16. The Sword In The (Scarlet) Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I hope your deadlines/work stuff are going well, and hopefully you can have a little break over the holidays :)  
> This chapter has lots of little development (and not one, but two, firsts!) and a rather big one towards the end, which I'm sure you can work out from the title ;)  
> Happy reading! x  
> Fic playlist can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc

Never before had Raphael found sea-travel particularly amusing. It was usually long, tiresome, and filled with aching bones, boredom, and trying – and often failing – to keep morale up.

Simon’s presence on-board changed everything.

The chaotic mornings were spent teaching Simon about keeping the deck clean and tidy, or if they were parted for the day, Raphael would assist with the writing correspondences between the ships, and Simon would stay below and assist with cooking. The rest of the ships sailed smoothly, keeping a close group as they cut through the waves and left Idris further and further behind.

As the days rolled on, amusement danced its way throughout the ship. Usually, there was frustration and boredom during sea travel, but Raphael found himself smiling, not sighing, or laughing rather than straining to carry barrels across the deck.

It was all because of Simon.

On the second night, Raphael had found himself seeking the boy out, if only to satisfy his curiosity. What would he be up to? Causing trouble, likely.

The knight was surprised to follow the source of the happy jeers and laughter to a large room below-deck, in one of the villagers’ quarters. On each ship, there was a space for the common people who had volunteered, and until now, they had been rather quiet. Raphael had peered in through the small, circular window and broke into an impressed smile.

There, sitting at the head table, surrounded by other players and onlookers, was Simon, and he lunged forwards and sent the wooden dice in his hands sprawling onto the table. They clattered, and other players around the table leaned in, clapping and stomping at whatever victory Simon had achieved.

Raphael raised a hand, and knocked, but after a minute of waiting, he realised that the noise drowned out his own, quiet request. He studied Simon through the glass, observing his ruddy cheeks, slightly crooked glasses, and his relaxed smile.

_Turn back._

This was not Raphael’s place to commandeer.

The knight turned, and went back to his own, private cabin.

On the second week, however, Raphael’s quiet observations revealed themselves to be not so secretive after all.

He was walking past the loud cabin, the cheers turning muffled as he walked away, when footsteps echoed heavily against the planks below. Someone wrapped a hand around his wrist, and spun him back around.

“Ah ha! I knew it was you!” Simon exclaimed. He didn’t let go of Raphael’s hand as he beamed up at him. “Why don’t you come inside, hm? Afraid to lose your money to me, milord?” He slurred his words slightly, and when he dropped into a flourished bow, Raphael had to hide his grin.

He’d yet to see Simon completely free from care, and a Simon with a loose tongue from gulping down too much wine was an entertaining one.

Raphael forced his expression to remain vacant. “Simon, I nearly _always_ win in tournaments.” He boasted. “Do you really think there is a game that you can beat me at?”

“Only one way to see.” Simon stumbled back, but kept his body, and challenging stare, turned towards Raphael. He pushed the door open with one hand, and beckoned Raphael forwards with the other. His fingers slowly curled in the air, and Raphael was all but helpless to accept the dare, and the hand.

And this was how Raphael found himself spending the nights with the people of Simon’s village. Admittedly, he did lose a great deal of games at first, but after refusing to surrender, people began to admire his determination. One or two even whispered advice into his ears, or shook their heads carefully when his hand hovered over a game piece. There were no vicious displays of power, either. Raphael had been reluctant to mingle with the villagers in fear of forcing his rank on them.

This was their space, not his, but after a few nights, tension eased, and they cheered as loudly for Raphael, as they did for anyone else.

All the while, Simon was close by his side. Sometimes he would nudge the knight’s hand innocently, slipping a coin into it, or hinting at a different move for Raphael to make. He was quick and sharp, and Raphael was in awe of his intelligence as he won game after game, but made sure to pull away when the stakes were too high.

There was, also, music. Dancing, entertainment, tales and stories too. They kept the nights filled with voices and eager listeners. 

And surprises. 

Discovering that Simon Lewis could sing would be something that haunted Raphael until the end of days.

“Song!” The villagers cried out one evening, and it was only when Simon flushed, and waved a hand in dismissal, that Raphael realised who they were asking.

“Do _you_ sing?” Raphael had asked quietly, not wanting to stir up another heated round of chants. He leaned in, his elbow brushing the boy’s as he waited for Simon to reply.

“Yeah. A bit. I was in good spirits the first night, and now they want me to sing every damn night.”

“Hm. I can’t remember the last time I heard a song.” Raphael murmured. It was supposed to be conversational, but the words seemed to tense the mood. He suddenly turned away, remembering that this was a lie. His mother had sung to him last, when he was a young boy. Would he ever forget the sound of her soft lullabies? He prayed they would last forever in his memories.

“Well, then, if the knight insists.”

“What? Simon, no, you don’t have to-“

Holding up a finger to silence him, Simon smiled, already reaching for a small, string instrument. “Just don’t expect the voice of an Angel. I’m just me, remember.”

_You are enough,_ Raphael almost said, but the words were stolen from his lips as soon as Simon began to pluck at the strings with careful fingers.

The entire room fell silent, watching with anticipation, just like Raphael was, when Simon cleared his throat and began to sing:

_I met her in the morning._

_Won’t you go my way?_

_I met her in the evening._

_Won’t you go my way?_

The song was simple and charming, much like the person singing it; carved in quiet notes and a thoughtful, bittersweet story. While Simon plucked and sung, a few others joined in, quietly harmonising throughout.

_In the morning, bright and early._

_Won’t you go my way?_

_In the evening, cold and stormy._

_Won’t you go my way?_

There was a pause in the song then, and Simon’s playing became quicker, more joyful. The reactions were instant, and people began to dance in the tight spaces of the crowded room. All this time, Raphael didn’t turn his head away. He ignored the stomps and the claps and the dances, and watched Simon. He was a joy to watch, smiling lop-sided as he concentrated on the instrument.

The final portion of the song begun, and Raphael watched as the lyrics curved over Simon’s lips, escaping like quiet secrets he was being privileged to hear:

_I asked that girl to marry me._

_Won’t you go my way?_

Thus, because Raphael was paying tentative attention, it caught the knight by surprise immediately when Simon turned, held his gaze, and sung the final two lines of the song:

_I asked that boy to marry me._

_Won’t you go my way?_

With that, he plucked the last note, ending with a jolly, few high notes.

Raphael only realised the song had ended when the cheers rose to a crescendo. He was still gazing at Simon, drawn into the song, and the lulling warmth in Simon’s voice. He sung with grace and joy, as if singing was a way for him to control, and sooth at the same time. Simon transformed when he sung, sharpening and growing confident with each passing note.

The way he gripped the base of the instrument was the only sign of nerves. Otherwise, Raphael would’ve assumed he was unstoppable.

“Was it worth the wait?”

“What?” Raphael blinked, startled by the question.

Simon lowered the instrument onto the table, and then said, “You told me that it’s been a while since you’ve heard anyone sing. How was it?”

Not sure what to say, or think for that matter, Raphael toyed with the wooden cup between his hands, steeling himself for whatever truth would escape his lips. Eventually, he let himself grin, making sure it was joking, and not...inviting. “I thought sirens were myths, Lewis.”

The dry remark immediately lost its humour when Raphael’s comment became a whisper instead; a murmur, not a tease.

_Damn it._

His cheeks were flushed. Raphael wished he could ignore the burning heat, but it was unavoidable. It was, however, a true remark. Simon’s voice made the knight wonder if creatures who sung from the soul, like magic, could be reborn into a human body. Raphael was enchanted, plain and simple.

“Thank you.” Simon whispered, and he was leaning down, resting his head on his hands as he peered up and searched out Raphael’s eyes. “I promise I won’t devour your soul.” He vowed solemnly, and his expression was such a mask of innocence that Raphael finally let the awkwardness slip away.

Raphael raised his cup in agreement. “Obliged.”

They clinked cups and then laughed, and the sound around them was once again growing deafening.

“I think I’ll take my leave now.” Raphael began, and he pushed away from the table, his chair scraping back slowly as he stood.

“Oh. If you must.” Simon pouted for a moment, and then plastered on a smile. “You’ll come back tomorrow night?” He asked, and the hope in his voice, the earnest smile, was almost too much.

“I hope.” Raphael finally said, honestly. He did hope. No matter how many times he told himself not to, he hoped every single day, and night.

They would be approaching the valley soon, ready for war.

It would be an impossible thing to ask for more now, but still, as Raphael turned out the light in his cabin, he felt Simon's song keeping him company. 

~

_This isn't going to end well,_ Alec thought, hiding his grin.

The most recent form of…amusement, within the mismatched group of mortals and downworlders, turned out to be group practise training sessions.

Alec had no idea who first suggested it – probably a bored, cocky Jace, or grinning Isabelle - but now, during spare moments, such as setting up camp, groups would be assigned, and they would challenge each other in combat.

It was unfair to have mortals against downworlders. They’d discovered this during the first round, on the first night. Firstly, Luke had refused to attack Clary, and then Maia had flippantly remarked that it was unfair. When Jace rolled his eyes, and baited her anyway, Maia quickly transformed and had Jace pinned below her before he could even yelp.

Although the knights were strong, and fierce, they stood no chance against an old, powerful warlock, two strong werewolves, and a faerie with speed, and nature’s guidance.

After that, they tended to divide them more carefully, and then set up different scenarios in order to challenge their strategy skills, as well as physical abilities.

It was an excellent way to keep up strength, and skill, as well as lighten the mood. They were close to the valley now, and Alec could feel the tension growing almost unbearable with each passing day.

“Ouch.” Alec muttered, jumping back when something pricked his foot. A dissolving blue spark named the culprit, and when he glanced up, Magnus was cocking his head impishly.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention.” Magnus called out, winking as he stood back again. 

“And _you’re_ supposed to be a gross, icky demon.” Alec shot back. He arched an eyebrow, swinging his sword as he waited. “Demons don’t have blue magic, so attack me without it.”

The teams this time were Alec, Luke and Isabelle playing the roles of, well, themselves, and Magnus, Clary and Jace were adopting the role of demons. All they had to do to earn a victory was disarm their prey, or get them to admit defeat. Lydia, Maia and Luciana were further away in the corner, having their own circle training session, taking turns to attack, and defend.

Magnus withdrew the elegant blade that Jace had given him weeks before, and he swung it, dipping it under and over with precision. He held Alec’s gaze, grinning as he did, and when he lowered himself, Alec mirrored the position, right down to the playful smirk.

They were well matched, and met in a series of quick blows, and spins. Alec gritted his teeth when Magnus ducked and rolled, almost quick enough to reach out and wrap a hand around the prince’s ankles. Fortunately, Alec’s reflexes were quick, and he sprung forwards into his own roll, before standing. They were facing each other again, but now the energy was fading, and Alec could sense Magnus’ frustration at being unable to use his magic. His fingertips moved, but no sparks appeared.

“Call it a draw, darling?” Magnus purred sweetly.

“Not a chance. Why? Are you tired already? And here I was, thinking you were dangerous, and old, and born from great magic and-“

Magnus leaped forwards and raised his blade, spinning just before he reached Alec. When he did, the warlock brought his sword down hard, and Alec met it with ease. Actually, his shoulders were shaking under the pressure of Magnus’ hit, because _by the Angel_ , Magnus was strong, with or without magic.

“Surrender?” Magnus called out, his eyes slowly shifting to reveal his warlock mark. If the act was supposed to be threatening, Alec rose to the challenge, grinning as he pushed back.

“Not a chance.” The prince retaliated with another series of blows, sending the warlock dancing backwards. They might be lovers outside of the battlefield, but in it, both were as competitive as they were stubborn. Avoiding the attacks placed Magnus in the defence, and judging from the huffs and sighs, he wasn’t too happy about this endeavour.

“Surrender?” Alec slyly repeated Magnus’ words from before, helpless against the shameless, victorious smile tugging at his lips. He was backing Magnus towards the trees, further from the others, and soon he would have to fight back, or give in.

“Oh, darling, you forget one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Magnus held his sword high, and up, pressing back against Alec’s blade with a confident stance. He no longer seemed passive, simply waiting for the right moment to strike. Alec suddenly felt incredibly foolish for assuming he was trapping him.

“I never fight fair.” Magnus revealed, and while Alec was concentrating on pushing against the sword with his own, the warlock’s leg suddenly shot out, and swiped against Alec’s heels, sending him sprawling to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

The warlock quickly lowered himself to the ground and straddled Alec in one, fluid, smooth move, pressing his blade to his chest, but not too firmly. His cheeks were flushed in a healthy glow, and when he grinned, it was a mischievous, victory sight to behold.

“That’ll teach you to mock a warlock about his age.” Magnus preened, tilting his head to the side as his gaze flickered from Alec’s eyes, to his lips, and then back up again.

For a moment, the prince was going to laugh it off, or bite back a reply and suggest they have a rematch, but the slight tension in Magnus’ forehead was worrying.

Alec gently sat up, leaning onto his elbows as he met Magnus’ amber eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He apologised quietly. “Before, I mean. I didn’t mean to mock your age, or immortality.”

Magnus looked surprised, and in the long pause that followed, he looked uncertain, suddenly a lot younger in the face of vulnerability.  “Oh, Alec, you didn’t.” He let the blade drop to the side, and then smiled kindly. “My pride has always been a fault. You’ll see my temper flair again, I’m sure. Just know that after I’m finished sulking, I’ll make it up to you in kisses, or…other ways, if you’d like that.” He winked.

Chasing the coil of desire spreading inside his chest, Alec let it become a warm embrace. He sat up a little more, meeting the warlock's eyes with a tentative smile. “I lash out, and Izzy says I’m grumpy, so…we're well matched.” It felt strangely good to be talking about the flaws, Alec noticed. He knew what keeping emotions buried did to a person, and it was never good. 

So when Magnus smiled graciously, and stood, extending a hand, Alec took it with ease, and climbed to his feet again. 

Brushing the dirt away from Alec's robes, Magnus let his palms spread across his chest for a moment, his gaze dropping to the dip in Alec's throat. He smiled tenderly, and then inclined his head towards the clearing. "Shall we see who won, hm?" 

As they strolled over to rejoin the others, Clary was engaged in a evenly matched battle with Isabelle, and the two were grinning happily, their expressions wild and free as they fought together. Luke and Jace were exchanging blows further ahead, but they seemed less bothered about victory, and more keen on staying sharp, and focused. 

"Was I that obvious?" Alec murmured, leaning in so that only Magnus could hear his dry remark. He nodded in Jace's direction, in regard to his friend's constant, not-so-secretive stares towards another certain blonde knight. It made it worse that whenever Jace turned away, Lydia would briefly look in his direction. 

A bubble of delighted laughter came from Magnus' direction. He looped an arm through the prince's, and there was still amusement in his voice when he replied, "Well, subtly is overrated anyway, if you ask me. But yes, you were somewhat obvious, as was I."

The warlock watched, observing the pair quietly, and then Alec watched as his dimples shone as he grinned. It was a charming smile, but a plotting one, and Alec felt sorry for whoever was the end of Magnus' calculating wit.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Magnus suddenly glided forwards, his hands folding behind his back as he continued to observe the fight. Alec followed his gaze down, to the jewelled fingers and their tingling sounds, and when Magnus wiggled his fingers, the blue sparks had returned. “A little…helping hand, never hurts.” He said, slyly. 

Before Alec had time to even raise an eyebrow inquiringly, Magnus flicked his wrist, and sent a pulse of magic in Jace’s direction, making the surprised knight stumble backwards from the sudden attack. Luke stepped away, and caught the warlock's grin, before ducking his head. Alec swore the werewolf was laughing, but Luke covered it with ease. 

“Hey!” Jace cried out, stabbing a finger in their direction. He narrowed his eyes at Magnus, brushing at his sleeves as if to erase the tingling sensation. “You’re supposed to be a demon, like me. Stop attacking your teammates, Bane.” He suddenly looked to Alec. “Wait, are you out of the game? Did we take you down?”

“Oh, so now it’s a _we_.” Magnus deadpanned. “And as for my alliance, I can go both ways if I choose.” He said it innocently enough, but his double meaning was clear when it revealed itself with a smirk.

“Then we need to work together and disarm Iz and Luke before- hey!” Jace broke off again when Magnus flicked his wrists, sending another wave of magic in the knight’s direction. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Magnus lied smoothly, and Alec had to hide his own grin when he realised where the warlock was directing Jace; backwards, closer to the group of women fighting; closer to Lydia.

Jace’s expression was clouded with anger now, and he wasn’t looking at all where he was stumbling back. When he raised his sword to block the magic, Jace tripped over a small stone, and Lydia reacted with sharp instincts, dropping her sword to catch him, and steady him.

“Oh, hi.” Jace grinned up at her, running a hand through his blonde hair, which was dropping into his eyes. “Can you believe this guy?” He pointed to Magnus. “No respect for ground rules.”

Lydia barely paused to acknowledge Magnus’ poor team player skills. She shook her head fondly, gazing at Jace, and running a finger through his fringe. “Your hair needs cutting.” She said, almost too quietly for Alec to catch. He wanted to look away, feeling like an intruder in the moment, but his curiosity won out, and he waited beside Magnus, half turned away in weak pretence.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Alec watched as Jace shrugged. “Will you cut it for me?” His friend asked.

Fingers hovering in the air, Lydia glanced away first, and the redness in her cheeks was deepening. “Of course.” She replied, but she opened her mouth again, as if wanting to add to it, but then she was silent once more.

As if accepting the end of the conversation, Jace cleared his throat, twirled his sword, and stood to face Magnus again.

“Really?” Magnus muttered. “I just gave you an excellent window, Wayland. Mortals.” He shook his head in frustration, but his lips twitched in amusement as he sent another, deliberate attack in Jace’s direction, this time, sending him falling right back into Lydia’s arms.

“Hello. Again. Twice in one morning. Who’s the lucky one here, you or I?” Jace smiled a rare, almost shy smile, as he stared up at Lydia for the second time. His hands gripped the sword, and her arm, for balance. His smile vanished in an instant when Lydia only sighed, the sound oddly defeated.

“Me?” She suggested dryly, though the impatience in her expression was clear, even from far away. Was she irritated by Jace, or by the situation? Alec wondered, if he was in his friend’s shoes, and position, would the unspoken feelings that lingered between them grow into an unbearable impatience?

Looking at Magnus, Alec realised that they almost had become that; almost an anger at waiting so long. He started to hope, to pray, that his friends wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

Jace frowned. “Why are you huffing at me? What did I say this time? I swear I need to write a book on how to interpret all your sighs.” He held up a hand, demonstrating. “So far, there’s about twenty-five different Branwell sighs. There’s the soft, ‘oh, Jace, you idiot’ sigh. There’s the louder, ‘please shut up’ sigh, and the-“

“What about this one?” Lydia demanded, and she sighed, but it was more like a growl of frustration, and she gripped Jace’s tunic tighter, her hand curling into the material and keeping him close.

Jace shrugged, his smile lazy, and happy. “I have no clue, but I’m at your mercy.” The knight murmured. He suddenly seemed to realise something, and ran a hand over Lydia’s sleeve, pushing it up to reveal the smooth, healed skin beneath. He waited a moment, and then his eyes widened, in awe, and relief. “Your wound. It’s completely healed. You’re safe.”

Lydia’s expression softened as she followed his gaze down, to where his thumb gently stroked the bare skin. “You already knew that.” She said, but with an unrecognisable yearning in her voice.

Jace must’ve heard it, or felt it, too, because he slowly curled Lydia’s hand into a fist, and then raised it to his heart, pressing it close to his chest. “Losing you…I wouldn’t have handled that well, Lydia.” He confessed. “At all. So you stay by my side at all times, and we can protect each other, yes?”

“Did I make that promise while I was under demon venom effects?” Lydia’s lips twitched, giving her away.

Jace shrugged, but when he went to say something, Lydia pulled her hand away, smiling softly, but still heading to return to the trio of fighters she had abandoned.

Just as she turned, Alec swore he saw Magnus mutter a curse, and gave another, final, little flick of his fingers, because this time, Lydia tripped. Jace lunged, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her backwards, spinning her around and into his embrace.

She fell forwards so quickly that Jace only had time to wrap his arms around her waist, pinning her in place.

“Jace, I-“

“Stop running from me. Please.” Jace simply implored, because his eyes said all the unspoken. It shared their memories together, and the truths they had been afraid to say, until now.

Lydia sighed again, and it was that growl of frustration, and acceptance, and it decided something for her.

Jace laughed. “Okay, look, I _still_ don’t know what to make of that-“

He was interrupted when Lydia wrapped a hand around his neck, dipped him, and kissed Jace into silence. She held his back with one arm, and cupped his face with the other, and despite the wolf whistle that Isabelle gave, the couple ignored the others and finally, embraced.

When she pulled away, Lydia’s smile was a bright, beaming, victory. “Does that clear it up for you?” She asked, and then she giggled, and the sound was so youthful, so sweet, that Alec felt his own laughter building.

“I think.” Jace murmured. He was pulled to standing again, and stared at Lydia in part amusement, shock, and unashamed awe. “Do you know how long I have wanted to kiss you?” He asked. “And all along, I was waiting for you to kiss me.”

“Because you’re a fool, and someone had to take charge.” Lydia muttered, but she was grinning when Jace shot forwards and kissed her again, the two lost in their little world.

“Well, they’re dead.” Magnus finally chirped up. When everyone shot him a glare, or a stern look, he simple shrugged. “The game, is all I meant.” He clarified smoothly.

But his lips curled into a beautiful smile and Alec swore he saw him mouth, ‘you’re welcome’ in the kissing couple’s direction.

After that, they were two players down, but the games continued, spirits revived by laughter and good fortune.

~

“Good job with Jace and Lydia earlier. You little troublemaker, you.”

“My dear, I have no idea what you’re referring to, but I will accept praise in the form of jewellery, or songs. It’s been a while since someone wrote a song about me, or a poem.”

As Isabelle joined him by the fire for their night guard together, Magnus already found himself looking forwards to the evening ahead. There was no one in their company that he disliked, but some he found easier to talk to, easier to bond with, and relax around. Isabelle Lightwood was most definitely one of those. They shared a similar taste for mischief, and good cheer, but also a greater appreciation for matters of the heart.

“Hey, so I was thinking, we never spoke about what happened at the lake. I know that you and Alec did, which is good, and I don’t mean to pry, but…sometimes we need a friend to talk to.” She began to play with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s different. So,” Izzy settled down, and angled her body towards him. “I’ll stay for a bit, if that’s alright?”

“I’ve never turned down good company before. I won’t now.” Magnus said graciously, despite the hammering of his heart warning him against opening up. It was always there, that brief moment of hesitation. He would overcome it, time and again, and tonight would be no different.

Finally, he began. “In my dream, in the siren's dream, I…was mortal." He revealed slowly. When Isabelle didn't visibly react, except to turn the cooking rabbit over on the fire, Magnus continued. "Which, yes, I assure you, is not the first time it’s crossed my wishes, but…do you think Alec wishes I was? I can’t change that, Isabelle, or my heritage. My blood will always be filled with magic.”

He gazed down at his hands then. On the outside, they appeared like any other's; warm-brown, youthful, and...human. But Magnus saw them coloured in blue magic, and suddenly they were otherworldly. Different. 

“This isn’t about Alec then.” Izzy said, finally. Her smile was gentle; cautious. “This is about you fearing that you’re either too dangerous for Alec, or not human enough. Both are, in my humble opinion, wrong. Well, fears can’t be wrong, but they can be foolish.”

The friendly teases surprised him, but in a good way. He arched an eyebrow. “Are you insulting the High Warlock of-“

“Yes.” Izzy interrupted, pointing a finger to silence him, but she was laughing now. Afterwards, she shifted, turning to take his hands into her lap. “Now you listen here, _Magnus Bane.”_ She said his name slowly, but not without a smile. She curled joy and laughter into the words. “You are part demon, and part human. Simply having demon blood means other can define you, categorise you, when your personality aligns to their liking with your heritage. If you snap out, it’s clearly because of your demon blood, or your dangerous powers. If you are cruel, or selfish, it is expected of a warlock. A downworlder. But everyone misses the real reason. The true reason."

"And what's that, my dear?"

Isabelle smiled warmly. "You do all of these things, as do we, because we are human. _You_ are human. I get furious, mad, erratic, and filled to the brim with sadness. Why can’t you too? Oh, but you can, and you feel just as deeply, if not more so, than any human." Her smile softened then, and Magnus understood that she meant every single word. "I guess, what I’m trying to say…my point is that your demon blood can define you, or it cannot. The choice is yours. Accepting it does not mean accepting that you are destined for darkness. Accepting it simply means you are certain that you are human, and complicated, and worthy of living. Immortality is a part of that, yes, and I have no right to judge on that because, well, Magnus, I can’t begin to imagine it."

An unreadable emotion crossed Isabelle's features, darkening her expression. She looked sad then, as if she wanted nothing more than to take away that burden. "You see many wonders, and watch many crumble too." She said, her voice distant, and forlorn. When her gaze met his, Magnus felt stripped back by the honesty in her eyes, in the gentle truths she wanted him to know.

Isabelle's smile widened again. "Just know this: you are a miracle.”

All around them, the night exhaled, alongside Magnus. It wasn't a question he'd needed answering, but hearing it from a friend's lips was a gift. Knowing that those he cared for accepted him completely, was a blessing. He didn't say anything for a while, simply turned over the cooking rabbit, and tried to think of something worthwhile to say in reply. 

Struck with a rare struggle to articulate his words, Magnus winked instead. "So," He began, breezily. "Alec likes my magic?” 

Isabelle snorted, and reached out to playfully slap his chest. “That’s all you took from my beautiful words?" She said, an indignant expression on her lovely face. "Someone should’ve put _that_ in the prophecy.” Izzy tossed her hair back, over her shoulders, but her grin ruined the effect, and Magnus knew she understood his gratitude. 

Still, he tried again. “Isabelle, thank you.” Magnus quietly said, smiling warmly. “I know that we will have to face it in the future, but it's a long way away." He ignored the small, terrified part of him that warned him how quickly time fled. Instead, he shook himself free of those concerns, and smiled, thinking of the many memories they had ahead of them. "I won’t let it ruin a single moment.”

“Neither will Alec.” Izzy reassured him firmly. “And that’s what really matters, to both of you. To be on the same page is the most important thing, and you two are. So, was I in the dream world?”

“Yes.” Magnus revealed. He turned the meat over the fire carefully, ignoring Isabelle’s impatient grumble. “Patience, my dear.”

“You could cook it in a second with magic.” She pointed out.

“Ah, but then who would save your mundane behinds from demon attacks?”

Isabelle scoffed at that, but waved a hand to surrender.

Finally, Magnus took mercy on her. “You were a Lady. I threw you a magnificent birthday banquet.”

“Wait. Were our parents there?”

“Well…yes.”

“I imagine they were…welcoming, in your dream?” Isabelle dropped her voice to a quiet reflection, sensing the bittersweet hope in the fantasy.

Magnus nodded. “Mm. Yes. If they simply try to set fire to me when we return, I’ll only be mildly surprised.”

“Please. They’ll go for a fancy beheading.” Izzy winced. “Sorry. That’s not my life to joke about. Hopefully this war will bring something good from the uncertainty: a future without violence. One with trust.”

“And equality.” Magnus offered.

“Hope.”

“An abundance of glitter.”

Isabelle shot him an amused look. “One of those desires is not like the other.” She teased.

“You’re right. The world can live without trust, but glitter?” Magnus tutted, shaking his head sadly. “The world really would be a tragic place without beautiful dust.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Isabelle suddenly said. “You’re an irreplaceable friend, Magnus.”

“My dear, I feel the same way about you.” He promised.

She squeezed his hand, and then groaned when the meat sizzled over the fire. "Come _on_. Let's get that rabbit served. I’m starving..." 

~

An hour later, after Magnus left to sleep, Isabelle was lonely for all of two minutes before she saw a flash of red, and then a coy grin revealing itself to be her favourite mysterious maiden.

“Hello, you.” Isabelle greeted Clary with a smile, wondering if she was just as bored as she was.

When Clary sat down, she sighed. “I couldn’t sleep. Mind if I join you until your shift is over?”

“Not at all.”

They sat quietly, with the fire crackling before them, and the night wrapping itself around them like midnight furs. When Clary unfurled something, a parchment, Isabelle recognised it as the image of the Mortal Sword she had kept.

“I keep thinking about this recently. I don’t know why, but…it feels like something is coming. Approaching.”

Needing to stretch her limbs, Isabelle stood, unsheathing her sword and beginning to warm up her hands. “Anything out there tonight?” Isabelle asked as she swept her sword in an arch through the air. The metal met the breeze with a slow respect, slicing through it, but making little noise. She carried on with her movements as she waited for Clary to reply. They had been on guard duty for a while now, but as always, the time passed by quickly.

“I don’t sense anything out of the ordinary. Well, apart from the ordinary unordinary.” She said dryly. “Half a day’s ride from here, a faerie wedding is taking place. They last seven days, and involve participating in quests to prove your love.”

“Sounds fun.” Isabelle offered. “Your gift is wonderful.”

“If only my father didn’t see it as a power to be sacrificed.” Clary muttered.

She sat down beside her. “I’m sorry.”

“I might not have good blood, but I have Luke. I’m grateful for him, but…I can’t help but worry about my mom. Is she really dead? Is it something I’d sense if it happened? What if she died while I was under the spell, and I never even knew? It’s frustrating.”

“Hey, we’ll find out what happened to Jocelyn. I promise.” Isabelle said carefully, making sure not to vow the impossible. Clary’s fears might be, unfortunately, the truth. Jocelyn could be dead, or beyond saving, but she could promise to find out for certain.

“Go back to your sword swishing.” Clary nudged her.

Isabelle climbed to her feet, readying the weapon. She tilted her head to the side, cockishly, and teased, “You like watching me do this, hm?”

Isabelle spun into a series of movements, arching the sword overhead, and then sweeping it low, with one hand. She then spun around and switched hands quickly, the movements fluid like water.

She was lost in the movements, and only stopped when she realised where the faint scratching sounds were coming from.

“Oh, you’re…”

Clary was _drawing_ her. Sketching her sword dance with her eyes narrowed in concertation. Isabelle prayed her flushed cheeks wouldn’t show too much in the dark. She didn’t feel watched or studied, simply admired. Clary’s quick strokes and small smile comforted her, and Isabelle wasted no time in continuing the rest of the sequence for the artist.

She was so lost in the sequence that when she was finished, Isabelle wiped at the beads of sweat forming underneath her brow, and inhaled a few, sharp breathes, before sitting back down. She slowly lowered her sword to the floor before holding her hands out. 

“Can I see?”

Clary seemed to visibly pale. She glared at the drawing, biting her lip. “It’s, uh, very rough.” She warned in a mumble. The breeze was gently moving the hair settled around her shoulders, and Isabelle resisted the urge to stroke her hand down it. 

“How about this: I’ll trade it for something.”

Curiosity won out, and Clary half-raised the parchment. “What do you have to offer?” She quietly invited. 

Isabelle thought for a moment, and then slowly raised the other girl's hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. She lingered, holding Clary's gaze as she lowered her hand again. 

Blinking a couple of times, Clary suddenly smiled sheepishly, and said, “Sold to the Lady Isabelle.” Without another word, she presented the drawing with a little wave, and tapped nervously on her cheek with the charcoal – which left gray smudges in her dimples. As she awaited a reaction, her knee bounced up and down. 

“Whoa.” Isabelle whistled slowly as she drank in the painting. For a quick sketch, it was detailed in different ways. Isabelle’s hair had been captured mid-spin, and she swore the soft traces seemed to move on their own. Her sword was mid-swing also. In fact, everything was in motion, and slightly blurred, as if Isabelle would step off the paper and into the world. Her expression was focused and oddly serene. Did she really look like that during training? It was like the world was shaping itself to her.

“I can do something better.” Clary offered. “Give me time, and I’ll truly do you justice, I promise, but this…” She smiled shyly down at the drawing, tapping it with a finger. “This is your soul: free and strong and unyielding.”

Isabelle let the drawing fall into her lap, leaving her to reach for Clary’s hand. She slowly swept her finger across the stained knuckles, smiling fondly at the marks of an artist at work. She looked up, and began, “Clary, I-“

They were interrupted when footsteps broke the silence. A figure had immerged from one of the tents, and was stretching as he made his way over to the fire.

“Changeover time. Go and get some sleep.” Jace greeted them with a yawn, his movements languished as he stretched before them. He waited until both girls had stood and then sat down, poking at the fire already.

Isabelle suddenly found it highly frustrating that Clary’s tent was beside hers. Why couldn’t they have set them up further apart? It was almost like a challenge of wills otherwise.

She parted hers, but smiled briefly in farewell. “Sleep well, Clary.” She said quietly, and was surprised to find disappointment on the other girl’s face.

As she settled down under the furs, the tugging in her chest began to tighten. Knowing now that Clary could control it – usually, at least – Isabelle immediately sat up, focusing on the energy, and the emotion. It didn’t sense danger, but the strength in the sensation was demanding. It was almost angry, as well as hurt, and Isabelle began to put the pieces together. If Clary was upset, she surely had a right to find out why. The connection between them was taunt and prickly with unspoken words, and when it tugged again, Isabelle threw back her covers with a growl. She didn’t bother redressing and simply marched over to Clary’s tent in her shift, her hair still down and flowing free.

“Hey,” Isabelle called out, not peering inside, but leaning in close enough to whisper into the slit. “Do you need me?”

There was a long pause, and no sign of movement, and Isabelle assumed that Clary was either being stubborn and would sulk in silence, or was already asleep.

“Iz?” A voice called out, uncertainty. “Could you come in and give me a hand?”

Sweeping the fabric aside, Isabelle waited until it was settled again behind her before turning to face the incident. Instantly, a guilty grin tugged at her lips, and she suppressed the urge to giggle once she identified the cause of so much frustration.

“Corset trouble, hm? Been there.” Isabelle assured her. She watched as Clary sighed. The fiery hair that had once been neatly coiled into a bun was now springing free from its cage. Small waves framed Clary’s cheeks, and jaw, and Isabelle followed down to where the tight corset’s laces had become tangled.

“Artists like to see what’s in front of them.” Clary grumbled.

“Yes, well they protect your chest, so the pros far outweigh the cons, believe me.” Isabelle told her warmly, ignoring the close proximity at which they now stood. The corset was leather and strong, and fit Clary like a glove, protecting her chest, and torso, and Isabelle admired the way it curved over her hips, before she began to untangle the ties.

“Sorry to wake you.” Clary muttered. “I guess you felt my anger?”

“I did.” Isabelle confessed, halfway through with the ties. It was a simple job, but one she took her time with, slowly unfurling the ribbons and leather straps with careful hands.

Surprisingly, her hands remained steady, even when the corset revealed Clary’s bare back, and pearly skin. Under the candlelight from the tiny lanterns, the girl was a marvel of bold hair, sharp lines, and soft skin. How many kinds of beauty had Isabelle seen? In both men and women? Clary Fairchild was something else altogether, and when she turned in Isabelle’s arms, looking up at her through long lashes, there was a huskiness in her voice that seemed to realise this. She was hearing Isabelle’s unspoken desires through the bond, but Isabelle didn’t mind. She certainly wasn’t being shy about it.

“I don’t want to overstep, but princess, you’re blushing.” Clary murmured, and she lifted her forefinger and grazed it across Izzy’s cheek. She followed the flush, her pupils hooded and round as she sighed. “What are you thinking about?” She asked quietly.

It was a daring question, and Isabelle was more than happy to answer it, to give more, always _more_ with Clary.

“You.” Isabelle simply said. “All of you.” She emphasised her meaning by reaching around Clary’s waist, and slowly pulling away the last ribbon. She let her fingertips brush down Clary’s bare back, touching her spine, her shoulder blades, and then slipping around her waist again.

The other girl shivered, and although her lips were parting, and her pupils were even more dilated, Isabelle knew she was also cold, and so she reached down and handed her the nightdress, turning to face away as Clary slipped into it.

“You can turn around.” Clary invited, after a moment's pause, and her hair was loose now, spiralling in red waves until it reached her shoulders.

“Angel.” Isabelle murmured. “I sometimes think you fell from the sky, burning and beautiful and waiting for me.” And she was, an angel, but not a timid one who hid behind a halo, but a real, achingly human one, filled with fire and holy rage, but also kindness and courage.

Clary giggled, her expression startled, and then unreadable. “Firstly, who taught you to woo like this? How many lords and ladies have you left for dead? I mean, what a way to die.” She ran a hand through Izzy’s hair. “By the angel, you’re beautiful.”

The flirtatious remarks were making Isabelle's blood boil. She groaned. “Milady, you’re making it _very_ hard to leave.”

“Then…stay. Not…in that way, but I need a protector?” Clary feigned batting her eyelashes.

“Oh, please." Isabelle laughed at that. "I’ve seen you fight. You can’t fool me with that maiden innocence anymore. I’ve seen your fire. I doubt you could ever be helpless. You’re far too stubborn.”

“I’m helpless when it comes to you.” Clary softly said, and then she laughed again. “Actually, that’s a bit of a lie. You make me stronger. Not because of our bond, well, perhaps that too, but because of who you are." She gazed up at Isabelle with such warmth, and affection, but also desire too, and when she spoke, it was caught between a whisper, and a murmur, "Iz, you’re amazing, and I…well, I…”

“I know.” Isabelle interrupted. She watched as Clary’s expression turned almost ferocious, and she was restless, tapping her hands, leaning in, and then back again. She didn't want the girl to feel like she had to fill the silence. Words didn't need to be forced out. 

Isabelle touched her cheek gently, and then lowered her hands back until they were resting on Clary's waist. “Look," She began. ", all I care about is that you’re safe, and we’re together, and-“

Clary suddenly surged forwards, as if she’d been waiting to do it for a long while, and kissed Isabelle with passion. She wrapped one hand around her neck, bringing her down to meet her, but Izzy only needed a moment to get over the surprise. She was soon gripping Clary’s waist and pulling her even closer, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. Clary’s sigh of content sent a delicious heat around Isabelle’s body, and she let out a quiet moan, which only seemed to make Clary press eagerly on.

The cord inside Izzy's chest felt like it was unravelling, spiralling along with her self-control. 

When she broke apart, the thin materials of their nightdresses were slick with sweat, and Isabelle knew that if they kissed again, they wouldn't stop.

" _Clary_." Was all Isabelle could whisper, as she hovered against the other girl's lips, still savouring the warmth of being so close.

"Stay. Please. Just sleep beside me, that's all i'm asking."

The quiet desperation, the _need_ , in Clary's question made Isabelle ache, for she recognised it inside her own heart. 

After a moment of considering, of weighing the options, Izzy finally sighed, and let herself smile. "I think...I can manage that." She pressed a quick kiss under Clary's earlobe, enjoying the shiver that ran down the girl's spine. "Do you steal the furs in the night?" 

Clary looked offended then, folding her arms across her chest. "Never."

"Good." Isabelle laughed, as they climbed into the newly shared bed together, burying themselves under the furs and blankets. It was a different kind of comfort, Isabelle considered, as she felt the warmth from Clary's body like a whispered word. Without a word, Izzy wrapped an arm around Clary's waist and drew the girl flushed against her. She leaned in and whispered, "Goodnight, Clary." 

She didn't need to see Clary's face to know that she was grinning. "Night, Iz." 

~

In the beginning of their quest, the knights had firmly believed that they were chasing a myth. They would cross into unknown territory and retrieve a Cup that no one believed in. It was an impossible journey.

At least, it had been.

Along the way – the long, adventure-filled, confusing, enlightening way – everything had changed. They had discovered that a myth could be real, and dangerous, and that friends and allies could be found in the strangest of places.

Valentine Morgenstern was alive, and building an army once more, while trying to gain the power of the Mortal Cup.

His daughter, Clary, had crossed their paths, and had awoken and became one of their unusual companions on the quest’s journey.

Alec’s friend, Helen, was in fact a faerie princess.

Alec was, also, falling in love with the warlock who was hired to be their guide.

These were the many thoughts that occupied Alec’s mind as they followed a thin stream through the forest. It would lead them to the hill that overlooked the valley, and hopefully, the island of Alicante itself. The water had appeared the day before, and everyone had instantly tensed; knowing that this was the final step in their journey.

This was the final calm before the storm of war. Before losses and surprises and violence ahead.

_There’s no turning back now,_  the prince told himself, as his horse gently trod along the forest path. He stroked the stallion absently, threading his fingers in the creature’s mane, and gently smoothing out the knots. Sagitta snorted with gratitude, and Alec smiled.

“Pretty boy,” Someone called out, appearing to Alec’s right in a flash of brilliant green and a dazzling grin. “Is that treatment only reserved for animals or….?”

Continuing to untangle the horse’s mane, Alec looked up, and met Magnus’ mask of innocence with a bold smirk. “I thought you were talking to Sagitta.” Alec grinned back.

Magnus leaned in, pretending to study the animal. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hm. Pretty indeed,” The warlock sighed deeply, leaning back and shaking his head sadly. “, but not a chance against you.” His smile was instantly back, a quick, beautiful ray of light that Alec let wash over him. Magnus was dressed in forest green robes today, with an exquisite golden trim around the collar, which spiralled into elegant patterns across the torso, and down the back. The tips of his hair were dusted with a rich, fern green, the dye a soft, yet striking colour against his dark hair.

As always, Magnus appeared to be the perfect knife edge; so close to danger, and power, yet rooted in kindness.

Naturally, Alec had to lean across and run a hand through his hair, just to make sure it was actually real.

Sometimes Magnus’ beauty was an ethereal presence, shaping his being with colour and care. Other times, it revealed the truth behind his moods, and Alec found himself appreciating each new colour that Magnus explored. It pleased him that he could read Magnus well. By now, Alec didn’t need for the warlock to wear icy blue to realise he was angered, or disappointed and keeping others at bay. He could read his stormy eyes, and his sulking pouts, and crinkled eyes when he was secretly amused.

When the stream opened up to a small clearing filled with trees bearing red, brown and orange leaves, the group ceased their riding. Leaves coated the ground, falling every so often to add to the pile of crisp leaves that crunched under the horses’ feet. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, and Alec gasped as the outline of the hill revealed itself a short ride ahead.

“We’re close.” He called out, but quietly, well aware how dangerous it would be to draw attention now.

Fortunately, Clary was still sensing no dark magic around them, and as they set up camp amongst the leaves – using the large trees for covers – Alec found the colours soothing. He was contently gathering up firewood with Jace, and as they headed back, a bird soared overhead. It cried out, and Alec hastily discarded the wood, reaching for his sword-

“Easy, big brother.” Isabelle held out her arm quickly, gazing up with a small smile. “That’s Meliorn’s bird, remember?” She whistled a soft, long note, and the bird stopped circling, and flew down in a slow, cautionary descent.

Isabelle held out her arm, and when the bird – a dark blue creature with large, black eyes – landed, it wrapped its claws fully, but daintily around her forearm. In its beak was an envelope.

“Uh, hey,” Alec mumbled, avoiding looking at the sharpness of the bird’s beak. “Would you mind if I, uh…” He held out a hand, gingerly, and when Jace gave a bark of laughter, Alec elbowed his friend hard enough to silence him.

Plucking the letter from the bird, Alec took a quick step back, and busied himself with opening it, rather than listen to Jace’s undignified snorts.

“Magnus,” Alec called out, after reading only the first two lines. “I think you’re needed for this one.”

The warlock was by his side within seconds, and when he took the letter, Magnus made sure to angle it so that Alec could still read from beside:

_'My dear old friend,_

_You’ve officially trapped me within your selfless crusade. Congratulations._

_Myself, and my companions – including three absolutely charming mortals from the Lightwood castle - are travelling through the Shadowlands as quickly as we can, only we have encountered a problem._

_Portals cannot be used as no one here has been to the valley you speak of._

_We are currently taking shelter at the Guild. They are kind enough to welcome mortals now, when did this happen, hm? My gut tells me this is something of your doing, you old fool._

_Anyway, we will stay here as long as we can, but do hurry. If you are close to the valley, portal to us. I understand it will use great strength to bring us all through, but our group has many strong warlocks. We will give you what strength you need._

_My friend, I truly hope that you are safe. I will think of you until I know for certain._

_With love, and slight frustration,_

_.Ragnor Fell.'_

“Oh, my dear, bitter, beloved friend. How I miss you.” Magnus lamented with a happy grin. He clapped his hands together and glanced around at the camp, a wry smile painting his expression with mischief. “This place is about to get very crowded.” He suddenly froze, and when he turned back to Alec, Magnus’ smile was replaced with concern. “Do you mind? Alec, if you have another plan…”

“No. Of course not. Bring the warlocks to us, but Magnus,” Alec held out a hand, and squeezed the warlock’s. “, be careful. Please.”

“I always am.” Magnus promised, and he began to create the portal. It was a deep purple this time, and Alec watched as the warlock’s brow furrowed in concentration. When it was finished, he quickly stepped through, leaving Alec to impatiently pace up and down for a few, long, painful moments.

Just when the minute was about to be up, and Alec was considering hurtling through the portal and retrieving him, Magnus stepped back out of the portal.

There was a hand on his shoulder; a purple-skinned, slightly scaly hand, that stepped through and revealed a second warlock. The man was smiling, slightly dazed as he stepped into the clearing and patted Magnus’ back in thanks.

This was only the beginning. After the first, over a dozen more warlocks stepped out, all of different heights, builds, colours, marks. They were a unique, marvellous group, and Alec offered his hand, and shook each warlock’s, as they stepped into their party.

Knowing he could not assist Magnus, the prince instead focused on greeting each warlock with a welcoming handshake, and pointing them in the direction of the camp close by. Most looked mildly amused, or grateful, but one or two grimaced, or even flinched, and Alec made sure to give them space. It was not his place to enforce rank. If he was going to be a leader, and a prince, who benefited all, he could not force loyalty. He had to earn it.

Patience would be the prince’s new companion, no matter how difficult it was to wait, Alec knew he had to. The time was fraught, ready for any mistake to collapse the entire new world forming underneath them.

_I’m going to help build it, not destroy it,_ he thought with a smile. _Hoped_.

The last warlock who stepped through was dressed in a leather overcoat that matched the horns protruding from his forehead. His hair was slightly curly, and the light green tint to his skin gave him the appearance of being framed in candlelight.

His smirk was knowing as he greeted Magnus. “Oh, how I have missed you, you bugger.” He then threw his arms around the warlock’s neck, and hugged Magnus tightly, only scowling a little when Magnus retorted something too quietly for Alec to hear.

“That was over fifty years ago! You can’t still be mad at me for that.”

“It was my favourite ring.”

“No, it wasn’t. You hate sapphire.”

Magnus made a sound in the back of his throat before turning around. He met Alec’s eyes, and the joy in them was enough to make Alec not feel so out of place in the reunion.

“This, Your Highness, is Ragnor Fell. An old friend, and accompanist in many of the stories I’ve been telling you. Ragnor, this,” Magnus stood a little closer to the prince, and his smile turned proud. “, is Alec Lightwood. Prince of Idris.”

“Oh, _now_ I get it.” Ragnor said slyly, unashamed in his accusation. He stabbed a finger accusingly in Magnus’ direction. “I was wondering why you ran along on this quest so quickly. It makes sense now…”

Ignoring his knowing tone, Alec stuck out his hand before the warlock. “Pleasure to meet you, Ragnor.” He greeted.

The warlock cocked his head, and his horns suddenly seemed a lot sharper as he studied the prince with narrowed eyes. He stared at his hand, and then shrugged, shaking it. “I would have liked us to meet under circumstances other than war, but yes,” Ragnor’s smile was finally back. “, I am pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, so you can tease me mercilessly.” Magnus muttered.

“Partially.” Ragnor admitted. “However, I have heard many tales now about you. Well, about all of you." He gestured around the circle. "Do you know how many stories are dancing through the wind, and the sky? Some say you have saved a cursed maiden in a tower. Some whisper that you won over the Seelie Queen herself, and killed a threat to her land. My favourite in particular is that the young prince is hoping to marry the most beautiful faerie in the Spring Court-“

“What?” Alec spluttered out.

At the same time, Magnus scoffed, “Like hell he is.”

They turned to each other, for a moment, but it was enough. Ragnor snapped his fingers together, his smile turning victorious. “Oh, you two are going to be _delightful_ to toy with. You always were,” Ragnor inclined his head at Magnus, but his expression was fond, not cruel. “, but now there’s this, and oh, so many new ways to torture you, my friend.”

“I’d be warned of arrogance." Alec slowly said, keeping his expression unreadable. "It was…Ragnor Fell, yes? The Ragnor Fell? The same warlock who stole King Leon’s prized wine?”

Ragnor’s face seemed to pale then, and when Magnus let out a giggle, Alec smothered his own and simply smiled sweetly. “If it was, I suggest you keep in mind that I have a council meeting with him. It would be easy to reveal the culprit.”

“You wouldn’t." Ragnor gasped. He narrowed his eyes at his friend. "And you would let him?”

“I can’t control Alexander.” Magnus said apologetically, though his eyes were shining with amusement. “I have no idea how he found out such a tale, but perhaps you ought to listen. Teasing us will gain you nowhere, old friend.” He reached for the man’s neck, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then guided him over to the camp, still with his arm around the warlock.

“Alec!”

Someone was hurtling towards him, and then two other figures followed. He saw a flash of dark curls, and then a familiar friend was in his arms, hugging him tightly. Tessa and James approached soon after, and greeted him with more composure than Will, but with no less joy in their eyes.

"Oh, it's good to see you, friends." Alec said, happily, and it was. How long had it been? Too long.

"We must find the others!" Will cried, and Alec let him lead the way over to the ever-growing group of companions, with Tessa and Jem laughing quietly as they followed. 

The meal around the fire that night was a strange one.

At the beginning of the evening, Alec had been anxious that everyone would split into their two groups, rather than form one. However, Isabelle, as always had been the cheerful bridge between the tensions. She and Clary gave out small bowls of food, redistributing easily and inviting some of the warlocks to add a little flavour if they wanted to. Those with more confidence agreed, showing off their cooking talents with happy grins.

It was a good strategy on Isabelle’s part. It relaxed the warlocks, as well as the others, and soon they were engaged in a food war in tasting over ten different modified rice dishes. The tasters would take small bites, and then offer their verdict, and Alec watched with a content smile as the warlocks, knights and other downworlders shared the evening in good-natured companionship.

No one spoke about the war ahead, even though it was a weight on all of their shoulders. It would be officially discussed soon, once they arrived over the hill tomorrow morning.

Tonight was a final night of sorts. One peaceful meal, shared between strangers who would become friends, and comrades on the battlefield. People who came from different sides of the land, were drawn together around the circle, the fire flaring up as if to give its approval in licking flames.

Magnus was in the centre of the warlock’s attention. They surrounded him, greeting him with friendly embraces, and the occasionally, lingering conversation. Some, he spoke to with careful words, and leaned in to pay careful attention. Others, the ones he was less close to, he simply exchanged brief, pleasant words, and then moved on.

It was during this, that Alec realised, once again, at how fortunate he was to have been chosen by Magnus. Whether it was a friendship, more, or both, Alec felt such honour, and pleasure, at being good enough for someone like Magnus. How could someone who had walked the world, again and again, find something new within him? What did Magnus see when he looked at the prince? What did he feel that made him dare to chase down love, when it had broken his beautiful heart many times?

His thoughts then turned back to the war ahead. Stopping Valentine would mean saving the land, but how truly ready was the prince? Alec worried about it constantly, and tonight was no different. 

Because of those around him, Alec felt ready. He trusted his friends, and believed in them with every ounce of his being. But if only there was a way to prove it. Not to himself, but to them. They deserved to have the greatest leader possible, and Alec wondered if he would ever be sure that this was his place to take?

_Am I a worthy prince, a worthy future king? I wish I could prove it. Somehow..._  

A light suddenly tore into the air. It was the only word to describe it. There was magic in the way it cut like a single ribbon of golden, warm light, spilling its way down the leaves. It shook the trees, bending some of the branches, and sending the leaves into a frenzied dance. 

When they calmed down, and a few warlocks had rushed off to check the perimeter, Magnus was the first to locate the source. 

From his place around the circle, he stood, and when he looked up, Magnus was gazing a little distance ahead, over Alec’s shoulder. “Alexander.” He whispered. “Look.” He nodded ahead. 

Alec turned, and felt the breath escape from his lungs.

This couldn't be real.

Was it? 

The fallen leaves, a little further into the clearing, had become a circle, and inside the circle, there seemed to be another place, some place that hadn’t been there before. It was haloed by the amber light, revealing the large, deep red stone, and the object within it. 

Clary gasped. “It’s the Mortal Sword. It appeared for us.”

One of the warlocks, a man with brown robes, and intelligent eyes, stood. “That isn’t just the sword. It’s the prophesied weapon of the future king. Our future king. The one promised to unite us all. Only he can wield the sword, and with it, destroy the Cup and bring back light.”

Whispers danced around the camp, and Alec heard his name mentioned again, and again.

With each gaze that met his, he felt another breath trap itself within his chest. 

“If we can retrieve it, we can stop Valentine, before he captures Clary.” Isabelle said, and she was already taking a tentative step towards the circle. As if drawn to it, the circle of people began to follow, each watching the Sword as though it might fade at any moment.

And it might, Alec thought. So why was he still sitting?

Overhead, tiny pixies and sprites were gathering too, and there were creatures all around – from wild deer to smaller, faeries, who clung to mushrooms and flowers – who were waiting, and observing the event.

Ragnor nudged him. “Up now, we haven’t got time for dawdling.” He said cheerfully, hoisting Alec up by the elbow. He practically waltzed him over to the edge of the circle, and the group parted to let them through.

“Wait.” Alec tried to say, but his voice cracked, and amongst the murmurs, and the excited whispers, his voice faded into silence. He cleared his throat, trying again, but Ragnor was too busy waving a hand to clear the way for the prince.

He was leading Alec to the sword, and everything inside of Alec began to tense. It was like a dream, and Alec couldn't shake himself awake. He felt lost, dazed and with no one to guide him. 

_Is this my true path?_

Isabelle was to his right, and Jace was to his left, and although their smiles were supportive as they helped him clear a path, Alec still felt the urge to turn and flee; to run back into the clearing, and away from the light, from the sword that spoke a thousand meanings he could never hope to fulfil.

And there rested the problem. For the Sword to have appeared, someone worthy was in the group. What if, after all, it wasn’t Alec? He was a prince by birth, but what if that was it? What if his legacy was to simply pass the crown along, to someone who could change the world?

_What if it's a trap? A trick? Why did it appear for me?-_

_Magnus._

_I need Magnus._

“Where’s Magnus?” Alec asked. He ignored the crack, and said, loudly, “Where’s Magnus? Please, I need…” This time, the closer layer of people overheard, and they began turning their heads, seeking out the warlock.

Before them, the sword still remained. The slither of light pulsed around the scarlet stone, as if in reminder. However, no one needed reminding. Everyone gathered knew the importance of the sword’s arrival, and what it would mean if someone held it.

Gently, a hand touched Alec’s waist, ringed fingers tingling pleasantly, and when he turned, a relieved gasp slipped between the prince’s lips. “I…”

He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the sounds of the group. Their anticipation was almost deafening, and Alec could feel dozens of eyes on him, waiting, watching, worrying and wondering what he was about to do…

“I can’t breathe.” Alec whispered. It was true. His chest was heaving beneath his tunic, and his hands were trembling so hard that even though they were fists, they were still shaking.

Magnus’ hand around his waist held him steadily. Without saying a word, the warlock circled him until he stood face to face with the prince, the sword directly behind him. Only then did Magnus speak, with a gentle, relaxed manner. “Look at me.” He invited. The calmness in his voice didn't make it less powerful, and Alec found it all too easy to look up, and relax into Magnus’ eyes.

The hand around his waist squeezed, and Alec relaxed his fists until they were resting by his thighs, still and calmed by the moment.  

Magnus’ expression was kind, but his words didn’t skirt around the truth. Still, it didn’t frighten Alec when the man he loved simply said, “This has to be your choice, Alec. It will only let you take it if you are supposed to, but you must want it.”

As if sensing his concerns, Magnus smiled, and the soft dimples in his cheeks captivated Alec so much that he felt his worries slip away. “You’re not falling into your destiny.” Magnus promised him. “You’re choosing it.” He shrugged then, and the gesture was dismissive. “We can find another way, if that’s what you desire. This won’t be the only way to win-“

“No.” Alec said. He blinked, surprised by his own firmness. “The Sword can destroy the Cup. If it will let me, I will use it to stop Valentine.”

“Then what are you waiting for, hm?” Magnus arched an eyebrow, his smile turning to a careful tease, and when he stepped back, he outstretched an arm with a flourish, causing everyone to step back and create a small path.

Alec took in a deep breath. He met the eyes of those he cared for; his sister, his friends, his knights. Everyone who believed in him was here, and he owed it to them, as well as himself, to prove that the prince they saw was someone worth believing in.

This was the final step in his journey. Alec realised this.

As he took one step, and then another - only glancing to the left to make sure that Magnus was close – Alec counted the steps, until he was eye to eye with a sword unlike any other.

The pommel was the only part of the blade they could see, but it was enough. Clary had spoken about it being a gift from the angels, and it certainly lived up to the myth, to the legend of such a holy weapon. Its pommel was a muted gold, with a singular, red stone in the centre, and it curved with a gentle bend until it disappeared into the crimson rock below. The unhidden part of the blade was silver, but somewhat translucent, shimmering in the light.

It was a blade of the angels. _Seraph blade,_ Alec decided. He had read a little about curved blades, weapons of the angels, but seeing one in person made him hesitate again.

“You can do this, Alec.” Isabelle whispered, before taking a step back, and linking her arm through Clary’s. The two girls watched with supportive smiles, but there was hidden tension in their brows, and Alec looked away again.

“Take your time, buddy, but not too much time.” Jace offered him a quick pat, lingering with his hand and giving a squeeze. “I doubt magical swords wait if you have second thoughts.”

“Right. Thanks.” Alec muttered, but he was grateful for Jace’s usual…Jace-ness. It grounded him as always, and kept his thoughts from running wild and into chaotic self-doubts.

Not looking around at the circle of people waiting – even though he was certain he’d only see friendly, or eager faces – Alec lifted both hands and rested them on either side of the sword handle. He gently ran his hands across the pommel, and the sensation of it – cool, smooth, but a material like no other – oddly soothed him. His fingers brushed the tiny patterns curling downwards, and the blade shimmered once more as he gripped it tighter, bracing himself for the strength he’d need to tug it free.

Should he rest a foot on the rock? Would that be disrespectful? There were no rules to go by, no right or wrong way to free a magical sword, and if there wasn’t so little time, Alec would’ve grumbled about this for a while at least.

A quiet hum started to weave around the forest. Only when Alec gripped the sword tighter did he realise that it was coming from the rock, and that the sensation was making the hairs on his forearm stand up.

_Now or never._

Alec closed his eyes, and pulled.

He was met with a resistance that was both strong, and unyielding. It refused to budge, rooted firmly in the scarlet stone. The humming grew louder, and the light still shone down, but other than that, the sword remained unmoving. Alec wiped his palms on his tunic, and then tried again, focusing with all his strength on the sword. He gripped the handle in a different way, and then angled himself slightly to the left, and then the right.

_Nothing._

Sweat was building by his brow, and he quickly wiped a sleeve across his forehead.

Was it all a lie? Was the sword’s test proving that he ought to give up? They had gathered here, creatures of the Shadowlands, and mortals, and friends and strangers, just to watch the prince fail. Was destiny really so cruel?

But the humming from the stone seemed encouraging. It tingled along Alec’s hands, and arms, right down to the tips of his toes, and when he closed his eyes, the prince felt urged to carry on trying.

Perhaps it was a different kind of strength required. He shifted his weight, concentrating with his mind this time. _I can do this. I will use this sword for good, I swear it._

The humming grew louder, and leaves on the ground began to flick upwards, before falling slowly to the ground again. A few of the warlocks stepped back, urging the rest of the watchers to be careful. The magic of the sword was strong, and unpredictable, and even Alec hesitated before wrapping his hands around the pummel once again.

Alec felt tears begin to sting behind his eyelids. He didn’t open them, and for a second, he just thought, and prayed _, please._

There was no one there to answer, above, below, or on the ground, but it wasn’t the reason Alec was asking. The prince knew this power wasn’t his. It would be a borrowed gift, a shared power belonging to an ethereal being from ages long past. The Mortal Sword could be his for some time, but it would always return here.

And with this realisation, the light suddenly shone down even brighter. It bounced off the scarlet rock, lighting the forest in a deep, amber glow as the leaves kicked and danced about.

It was close, so close. Alec could feel the Sword’s desperation to escape, almost as greatly as he could feel his own strength mirrored back in the rock. There was, still, an element of holding back, but this time, the prince knew it wasn’t because of his actions. It was the Sword itself, unable to break free.

Was it fighting its own destiny? Or was it simply waiting for something else, someone else?

_Who else does it need?_

Alec felt his shoulders trembling with such a force that he felt the impact clench his jaw. He grounded his feet, keeping his grip steady as he pulled, and tugged, and begged the sword to move.

“Alexander…”

Alec turned his head, the tears behind his eyes slowly falling, and met Magnus’ eyes. They were soft in their mundane brown, but the flickers of golden-amber were close to the surface. Alec held his gaze, and waited, still with his hands wrapping around the sword’s hilt.

“Did I fail?” Alec whispered. He almost didn’t want to know, but Magnus was stepping closer, and the humming began to settle.

No. It wasn’t settling. It was _changing_. It was turning to a slower rhythm, but the intensity was still there, bubbling up beneath the stone and waiting to light the flame.

“No, you didn’t, Alec, it might just need time-“

Magnus reached out, and gently placed an arm on the prince’s quivering one. As soon as he did, a miracle was born. The humming not only broke out into a single, long note, but the leaves suddenly soared overhead completely, as the light became a circle that pulsed out into the forest.

With Magnus’ arm on his shoulder, Alec gasped. With a barely visible tug, the prince lifted the sword up, and completely out of the scarlet stone beneath, revealing a shimmering, curving blade that caught the light exquisitely.

As soon as the Sword was freed, the light disappeared then, leaving the leaves to fall gently back to the ground. The humming descended back into silence, and all that was left was the prince, holding the Mortal Sword raised in one arm, and Magnus standing by his side, still touching his other hand, gently.

They both stumbled back when the rock disappeared suddenly, but their surprise was soon replaced by a new awareness.

Everyone in the ground, all the downworlders, and the knights, and the faeries who had come out to witness the moment, began to bow. They faced the prince, and the warlock, and they lowered themselves onto one knee.

Every time someone bowed, Alec’s heartbeat would grow steadily louder, until it echoed a strong, proud beat that he could not stop listening to. In his hand, the Sword was easy to hold, despite its size. It was a graceful weapon, and as Alec slowly lowered it, he faced the bowing group with a careful smile.

The men and women before him had answered. They were choosing him, choosing Alec as their leader. Pride swelled inside Alec’ heart, but unlike before, this was a new pride, a content, peaceful one that promised earned loyalty, not bought, or forced.

No magic had been used to pull out the Sword either. Alec knew this. Magnus had simply touched him, and together, they had lifted the blade.

_What does that mean?_

If the chosen owner of the sword was a destined ruler, what did it mean if two people lifted it?

_Two people who loved each other._

And then it hit him. Yes, Alec was a prince, but the man standing before him was also, and by blood too.

Not one, but _two_ princes, had lifted the Sword.

There was a magnitude to that truth, and Alec saw it as an answer to whoever questioned their love. How could anyone not see both princes as equals? If Alec was a prince of Idris, of law, and strength, and loyalty, then Magnus was the son of a prince of Hell, but also of magic, joy, and wit. The balance they brought each other, and the land, was undeniably powerful, and perhaps, Alec realised, was why the Sword had been waiting for Magnus too.

_Two princes. Two rulers. Together._

Finally, Alec met Magnus’ gaze. He was pleasantly surprised to find a similar pride in the warlock’s eyes, and knew that it was directed inward, as well as in the prince’s direction. Despite Magnus’ jokes, he was humble, and Alec feared he would step away as soon as the Sword was taken.

But then, Magnus smiled, and inclined his head as he started to lower himself onto one knee.

A thousand cries escaped into Alec’s mind. _No. No. No. No-_

This was his fear; his nightmare.

Alec quickly held out an arm, curling his fingers gently around Magnus’ chin to stop him bowing. He lifted the warlock’s face upwards, until he was met with widened eyes, and a half-smile, frozen in uncertainty. There were no words to explain, not yet, and so Alec simply encouraged him with a smile, until the warlock stood at full height again, cocking his head at the prince.

Alec slid the new sword into a spare place on his belt, and then turned back to Magnus, who was now fiddling with his ear cuff. He kept glancing around, at the gatherers who were now buzzing with excitement at what they had just seen. Isabelle and Jace were heading over, and Alec knew he did not have long.

He kept his words simple, but he could feel his expression opening up as he smiled warmly at Magnus. The prince took one of his hands and held it, running his thumb over the numerous rings, before lifting his chin, suddenly feeling shy again, despite the confident rush, the _freedom_ , in being accepted, and chosen; not only by the Sword, but by everyone gathered, including the brilliant warlock who had almost bowed to him.

“Not you. Never you, Magnus.” Alec vowed firmly. He raised Magnus’ hand until it covered the pounding beat of his heart underneath his tunic. When Magnus’ eyes softened, glistening with tears, Alec knew he understood. “You are my equal, now and always. I want everyone here to know that.”

After a long moment, Magnus simply said, “I’m incredibly proud of you. Surely you must know.”

Alec nodded, still holding onto the raised hand. “I do." He softly murmured, wanting nothing more than to steal a moment alone. "Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I couldn’t have pulled out the Sword either, Magnus, so…thank you. _Truly_.”

“Uh oh. Incoming.” Magnus suddenly grinned, raising an eyebrow as he looked over the prince’s shoulder.

“What-“

Two arms were wrapped around his waist suddenly, and someone else attacked him from the right hand side. Jace’s blonde hair tickled his nose, and his sister’s nose dug sharply into his back, but Alec grinned even wider as they embraced him tightly.

Magnus smiled fondly, and mouthed, ‘I’ll see you later’, before heading off to re-join the others.

“Buddy, that was epic.”

“You’re going to be a king chosen by the people, not just Idris. Do you realise how amazing this is? Alec, you’re…wonderful. I’m so proud of you. Beyond words.”

As his best friend, and sister, greeted him with beaming smiles, Alec made sure to keep his composure. There would be a danger in forgetting the dangers ahead, but still, he let himself return their happy grins. "Well, a king is nothing without his people," He told them. ", so both of you had better not leave me.”

“Never.” Jace vowed, and he rested his fist against his heart for a moment as Isabelle shook her head just as firmly.

“Good, now come on, this king, sorry, _prince_ ,” He let a slow smirk cross his features. “, needs a hot meal.”

They spent the evening almost in celebration, and many wanted to see the Sword for themselves, or press a symbol of good fortune onto Alec’s forehead. On the fourth spiral pattern, Alec asked Magnus to explain why faeries did this, and the warlock revealed that it was a sign of encouragement, and loyalty. The patterns were promises of allegiance.

After that, Alec accepted them with greater care, and made sure to let the faerie touch the Sword, or asked about their families to show that he cared in return.

The fire was still crackling when sleep descended, and it came so quickly, that Alec only had time to throw some furs over Magnus before snuggling in close, keeping one hand on the Sword while he slept.

The evening had been an impossible one; one that would echo its way through tales and legends one day.

But as Alec fell asleep, there was only one story he wanted to know the ending to.

Would Magnus stay beside him, and rule with him? More importantly, did Alec want to put him through that, knowing how tough it would be? How slow the change would be?

_Stop looking for excuses._  The prince was awake enough to yell at himself, it would seem. _You know Magnus would fight. So will you. It’s really that simple._

And if tonight had taught Alec anything, it was that. Fighting was difficult.

Fighting with someone, and for someone, was easier.

~

The peaceful certainty carried on into the next morning, as their party half rode, and half walked, up the final hill that overlooked the valley below.

Atop the hill, they would see the sea on all sides, as well as the valley that would soon become a possible battlefield against whatever evils Valentine had managed to control.

Alec was leading the way, with Magnus, Isabelle, Jace and Lydia. Clary and Luke were close behind, with Maia and Luciana, and Tessa, Jem and Will were staying closer with the warlock group as they guided them up the hill. A breeze was blowing salt into their eyes, and Alec knew as soon as they reached the hill’s peek, they would come across the stretch of sea in a brilliant, blue, surrounding circle.

There had been no sign of demons, but Alec thought they wouldn’t dare attack the group in small numbers. They had a group of warlocks on their side, as well as fierce knights. Everyone would willingly die to defend the future they were birthing.

Alec wondered if the demons could sense that; sense their determination. Did they fear it? Could creatures embedded with such evil even think to fear it?

The trek up the hill was slow, for it curved gently, and they stuck to the main path, allowing their horses a calm ascent.

Behind them, The Shadowlands was quiet, and Alec was surprised to feel disappointed in stepping outside again. Looking back at their journey, it seemed a miracle that they had made it so far; from the guarded Lightwood Castle, to the outskirts, the Guild, and throughout the land, only to emerge on the other side with allies and new friends, and an awareness that Alec had always longed for.

There was new strength in his bones: new hope, and acceptance in his blood. The prince’s new sword rested gently against his thigh, tapping slightly as he walked, but it was a pleasant reminder, and he found himself occasionally touching it, and smiling.

The rough ground below suddenly levelled off.

Alec blinked in surprise. He had been staring at the grass below his feet, lost in thought, but as soon as he glanced up, his breath caught in his chest. The breeze became colder, and dived into the neckline of his tunic, causing Alec to shiver and grit his teeth against the oncoming cold.

_We made it._

The top of the hill revealed a large, open space. It was wide enough for a good place to make camp, and later, house as many of their battle allies as possible.

On the far end, it began to dip into another steep descent, and Alec followed the line, down into the open valley far below. In the distance, the water gleamed, bright and blue, and it looked almost inviting, despite the temperature. Far away, in a speck so small that Alec had to narrow his eyes into slits to see it, was an island.

_Alicante_. _The Cup. Valentine._

Down below, in the valley, and across, to the island, lay the future. It opened up in planes of greenery and sparkling water, but Alec knew it held loss, and difficult choices. It held a battle, or two, perhaps. It held a man desperate to start a bloody reign. It held a Cup that had the power to destroy many men, women, and any creature it deemed a threat to the ordinary.

“Alexander,”

Alec turned, still clutching the reins of his horse anxiously, and found Magnus waiting patiently nearby. The warlock inclined his head in the opposite direction, out into the open water. “I think, my dear, there’s something you’ll want to see…”

“Hm-“

The prince broke off with a shocked gasp. Out in the water ahead, was a sight of beauty, and hope. It was just as promising as the magical blade swinging by his side, or the prophecy that insisted they would have a victory.

“Your army is here, Your Highness.” Magnus said, and they slowly walked over, onto the edge of the hill, watching as at least a hundred ships sailed through the sea below. They were heading for the side of the valley, close to where Alec’s party would set up camp above.

The deep red of the Lightwood sails soared right into the prince's heart. 

“We need to put up a flag.” Alec quickly instructed, and he was half turning around again, when Jace shook his head, telling him to stay there.

“I’m on it.” His friend insisted, and was already unfolding one of the flags from the bags and mounting it on the tallest stick he could find. With Lydia’s assistance, Jace hammered it fiercely into the ground, and when the pair stood back, a dazzling red flag, with the Lightwood seal, danced in the breeze.

The rest of the group had abandoned their horses, or rushed them over, and were peering out into the edge as well. Alec heard Clary sigh happily, and lean into Luke for a hug, and one by one, friends embraced, and hope spread throughout the group as the ships sailed closer, and closer, their own flags reflecting the same, brilliant colour, back up to the hill.

Magnus leaned in closer, and danced a hand up Alec’s sleeve, resting his fingers against the prince’s wrist as he smiled up at him. “I knew they would come. They would be fools not to believe in you.” 

Alec smiled, and the first rays of sunlight from the new day began to pool by their feet. He took Magnus’ hand in his, and the sensation of hope grew. It changed from gentle prayers to confident wishes.

Not caring who was watching, Alec leaned in, and pressed his forehead close to Magnus. His skin was soft, and warm, and the prince’s smile blossomed as he stood there, in a quiet peace like no other. “And you?” Alec asked, his voice barely a whisper. Still, it carried through the wind to Magnus, to the only man Alec needed to hear it. “I know…I know that I shouldn’t need to ask, but do you believe me? Tell me again. Please."

Magnus’ eyes were open enough to crinkle at the corners when he smiled, and what a lovely, tender smile it was. It reached his eyes, and opened up his expression like a flower; colouring it in laughter and muted passion. He slid his fingers into Alec’s, pushing until they were joined beneath. “We are unbeatable, Alec. You and I. No demon, or mortal madman, or ghastly siren, can tear me from you.” He laughed then, and it was quiet, and gentle, as though it frightened him, but not enough to ruin the beauty. “This is where we make our stand then?”

For a long pause, Alec didn’t reply. He simply soaked in the rare moment, knowing fore well that he would spend many nights reliving it, no matter what happened in the future. He soaked in standing atop of the hill, with the sound of a hundred sails beating ferociously against the wind.

It was cold, and yet, Alec felt warmer than ever. He was loved, and could love in return. This was a choice, and one he would fight to make over and over again.

He held onto Magnus’ hand tighter, squeezing his answer into the warlock’s fingertips, pushing in the softest _yes, yes, yes_ , as he could.

This – love, belief, hope – was not destiny. It was a power that came from inside. It curled itself around Alec’s heart, waiting for him to reach out and mould it into an array of colours. It wanted him to be brave.

Destiny or not, Alec was going to live, and so would his family, and his loved ones.

Without pulling away, the prince reached up and gently cupped Magnus’ face, smoothing his thumbs across his cheeks, with slow, careful touches. They were so close, and Alec wondered how they appeared to everyone else.

Did they see a warlock, and a mortal man?

Did they see two princes, born from different backgrounds, different worlds?

Did they see, like Alec did, _love_ , crafted from a surprising adventure that had taken them right to this very moment?

The yearning tenderness to hold Magnus forever in his arms was a wonderful feeling. It enchanted Alec; tensed every nerve in his body, and relaxed them seconds afterwards. There was an ease to it, to touching Magnus, and sharing the space.

Long ago, he had thought this was the most difficult quest of all: falling in love. How wrong he had been.

All along, it had been simple. It had been a choice, and one he had made time and time again. Instead of turning away, Alec now turned to it for guidance and promise; finding it in the soft dimples of Magnus’ smirks, and the magic that danced across his palms. He found it in hungry kisses, and soft, deep, lingering ones too.

With their foreheads pressed together, and the future bidding them welcome with open arms, all Alec could find the words to say, was, “I’m so glad I met you, Magnus Bane.”

The whispered confession lingered between their lips.

Magnus seemed to feel it, because his smile turned coy. “And I, you, Alexander." He softly said. "I meet many people across the years – men, women, creatures, and everything in between – but you have broken down every single wall, tore down my armour and built it up twice as strong." He was uncharacteristically still, his words spoken slowly, and carefully. It meant a lot for the warlock to say this, and Alec listened with his undivided attention. "You have helped me to live again, and saved me in more ways than one, and if I can stand by your side, and fight beside you, then I will do so for the rest of your time in this world. If that too, is what you desire." A tear fell from Magnus' eye, and as it reached his cheek, Alec gently swiped it away with his thumb. 

Alec nodded, without hesitation. “It is.” He assured the warlock. 

“May I ask for something now?”

Alec arched an eyebrow as he took in Magnus’ sly smile, and the way he tilted his head to the side, his eyes flicking between Alec’s eyes, and lips.

“Alright.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Alec forced his expression to stay vacant. He even added in a sigh. “And here I thought you wanted to hold the sword like everyone else.”

“The Sword is beautiful, indeed, but you,” Magnus leaned in closer, winding his arms around the prince’s neck. “, are even more so, and I’d quite like to kiss _you_ , Alec, not an angel blade.” He shuddered. “Do you think it burns people who try and kiss it?”

“Let’s not find out.”

“But-“

“ _No_ , Magnus.” Alec warned, but he was laughing when Magnus pouted for a moment, and then turned his attention back to the waiting prince.

“You don’t need permission. You can kiss me whenever.” Alec promised, quietly, trying to keep his flushed cheeks at bay. The breeze was turning them a crimson, so it was past the point of hiding, and besides, he didn’t mind too much if Magnus was grinning at him like that.

“Oh, really? What excellent news, good sir.” Magnus teased, and he leaned in closely again, still not closing the distance completely. His arms tangled in the back of Alec’s hair, and once again, his forehead met Alec’s before his lips did. Magnus then took his time, opening his mouth just a little as he sucked Alec's lower lip between his own. It was slow, torturous, and sweet, and after that, he took mercy, and kissed him more deeply, and Alec was more than happy to oblige. For a brief moment, he gripped around Magnus' waist so desperately that he lifted him off the ground.

They both laughed, and then resumed kissing, unafraid to lose themselves in the light of the world. 

If anyone was observing, they would see a mortal prince, and a warlock prince, kissing as if it were their final day together. The slightly taller one was half-smiling, and the man with green streaks, and dust on his eyes, was laughing, his arms wound firmly around the other’s neck as he kissed him deeply, and slowly. A background of ships was below them, and with the blue sea, and sky overhead, encircling them, the entwined lovers were a tapestry in motion; a colourful mosaic of love and hope as they stood atop a hill, unreachable, and unbreakable.

Eternity itself seemed to consider stopping time for them.

But, as always, time carried on, however the two men ignored it, and kissed until the first of the ships began to pull up to the ground below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ships are coming!!!! (So is the war, but YAY, SHIPS). Anyway xD  
> Alec and Magnus pulling out the Sword together is actually something I've had planned since the beginning, so it was nice to finally write that scene!  
> And we got two first kisses! Jace/Lydia and clizzy! Lots of love going on here, guys <3 <3  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave a comment if you have time :) Or come find me on tumblr at 'clockworkswans' or, twitter @clockworkswan96. I love hearing from you!


	17. Colour Me With Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! I am so excited for the show to return soon, and I thought I'd post this chapter before we all get swept away in the madness (bring it onnnn).  
> This chapter is....steamy. *laughs at own pun*. You'll see what I mean. I've taken inspiration from one of my favourite bollywood movies, 'Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela', and you can watch it here before, or after the chapter, but it might help with the visuals if you watch before ;) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUZPi8AxMfs  
> Happy reading! :)  
> Come find me on tumblr - 'clockworkswans' or twitter @clockworkswan96.

The first observation Alec made as he watched Robert Lightwood and his army climb the sloping hill up to the top, was how strange it felt to see his father in the flesh. Especially after so long apart, and away from the castle.

The king was adorned in chainmail, glistening and strong, and proudly bearing the fierce, deep red of the Lightwood crest, but the lines in his forehead, and the slow, lingering movements in his steps made Alec want to rush forwards and assist him.

Instead, Alec forced himself to remain still. He waited at the top until the army spilling out of the docked ships reached the hilltop. Their people had arrived just in the nick of time, and Alec felt a surge of hope spreading around the camp. Tents were starting to be erected, and there was bustle and noise and a general sense of renewed spirit as the army, and king, climbed up to meet them.

Magnus was waiting patiently beside him, his forest-green robes a calming presence in an army of bold red and metal. Alec had to clench his hands into fists to cease the aching desire to reach out, take Magnus’ hand in his, and await however Alec’s father reacted.

_There will be time for that,_ Alec reminded himself. For now, there would be a focus on war strategies, filling in the king on all that had happened, and how they could work together to save the land.

_Just little things_ , Alec thought, dryly.

Magnus was suddenly smoothing down his robes, fiddling with the tiny, muted gold buttons hidden in the centre. He toyed with the collar and then switched the order of his necklaces, before resorting them again. He was checking his buttons for a third time when Alec realised what he was doing.

“Are you…nervous?”

“Alexander, please. I’m the High Warlock of Ash Tower. What reasons do I have to be nervous?”

“You are.” Alec argued, and then his voice softened. He took a step closer. “Are you anxious to meet my father? You’ve met him before, haven’t you? Why is this time any different?”

Magnus didn’t say anything. He simply arched an eyebrow, pointedly eyeing the prince up and down. The grin that appeared was splendidly wicked. “Well, you see, now, Your Highness, I’m rather eager to follow his son to the ends of this world.”

A rush of joy waltzed its way into Alec’s heart then, lost in the simple, easy way that Magnus confirmed his feelings.

The warlock continued, breezily, “, and for good reason. He could have me thrown into the dungeons for seducing his son. Not that he'd succeed, but the idea is...distressing." 

“I understand, but, uh, Magnus, and…don’t take this the wrong way," Alec said, slowly, resting a hand on the warlock's shoulder. ", but he won’t care. Not right now. There are more important things going on. Not to me.” Alec quickly added, when a flash of hurt crossed Magnus' features. “I care. Of course. You are still our guide, and my father will greet you as such. There’s no need for concern.”

Was he trying to convince himself, or Magnus? Alec wondered. 

Fortunately, after a moment, Magnus nodded. “Very well. I’ll play the diplomatic approach." But his mask of innocence wasn't fooling the prince. It fell within seconds, a smirk painting him in confident colours. "No speaking of how delightful the prince of Idris is, or how soft his lovely lips are, and how often I’ve wanted to take him into my arms and-“

“ _Magnus_.” Alec hissed in warning, but it lost all impact when he started to laugh.

They were still smiling when the first banners approached, led by Robert, and a few of his right-hand men, and lords. There was Sir Raj, Lydia’s father, Sir Henry, and the ever-scowling, Sir Arthur, a distant cousin of the Blackthorns. Many of the faces in the army were familiar, as Alec had seen them growing up, but others were villagers, and Alec was surprised to see many of his people joining the fight.

Had they been forced into service? He made a mental note to check as soon as possible. If so, he would send them home instantly, or have them stay somewhere safe, away from the war. But they appeared smiling and bearing proud looks on their faces, and Alec felt the uncertainty leave him.

_They're here because they want to fight._

His father’s smile was a brilliant beam. “My son.” Robert greeted with a smile. He clasped Alec’s forearm for a moment, his steel gauntlet clinking, and then made a decision, his expression softening as he leaned in to briefly hug the prince. Robert cradled the back of Alec's neck before pulling back. “It is good to see you.” He quietly said.

Alec smiled, suddenly feeling the tears prickling against the back of his eyelids. “It’s good to see you too, father.” He said. He gestured to the hundreds of men behind them. “Thank you for aiding our call.”

“Always.” 

When Robert's eyes turned to the left, Alec gestured with a hand. “You remember Magnus Bane." He began, grateful for the wind; hiding the quiver in his voice. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but he was apprehensive. Waiting for any tension to arise. ", our guide.”

He was surprised when the king gave a brief nod. "Yes." He said, and without alarm. He even gave a polite smile. "If my son and his companions have made it this far, unharmed, and it is because of you, then you have my gratitude. And respect.” Robert finished, and in a surprise display of thanks, he held out a hand to the warlock.

Magnus stared at him, and then his gaze lowered to the extended arm. For one, agonisingly long second, Alec feared he would refuse the king’s greeting. On the one hand, Alec would understand why. The prejudices Magnus had faced in the past would paint the king in a cruel light, and even as his son, Alec knew his father was responsible for reinforcing the law.

A second, selfish, side to Alec, desperately wanted this to remain peaceful; for Magnus and his father to exchange civil words.

“My pleasure. They are a charming group.” Magnus finally replied, stiffly, his voice less lilting, and musical, than usual. He was concealing some of his flair, and Alec was saddened by this, disappointed in the realisation that his father was not able to truly see the man he had chosen, _all_ of him.

Still, it was a start. A tentative beginning.

Robert sensed the appraisal, but didn’t question it. Had it been Maryse, Alec was certain that his mother would’ve challenged the warlock, or demanded respect. Robert was less confrontational. He turned to his son again and asked, “I trust you have organised a war council?"

Alec nodded, unusually glad to turn the conversation to talk of battle. “This afternoon. I suspect your knights are in need of rest, and food. We have both in the camp. Please, I can show you the way.”

Now it was his father’s turn to assess the man standing before him. He slowly took in Alec, from toe, to forehead, before rocking back on his heels. “You have changed.” He said. If it was an accusation, Alec didn't feel the brute of it. He was proud, if anything. Robert's expression was slightly dazed, unsure, but his small smile suggested he was pleased.

Alec had no idea whether this was a statement he was supposed to agree with, or challenge.

“Your Majesty,” Magnus cut in, smoothly. “Perhaps I can lead the knights to food and shelter, and you can spend some time with Alex- your son?” He hid his slip up behind a smile so charming that Robert didn't question the endearment. The warlock swept an arm out, the sleeve of his robe rippling like gentle water. “The tents are ready and waiting.”

“Thank you.” Robert nodded, and gestured for Alec to walk with him, away from the army, and away from Magnus.

Alec let himself take one last glance, take in Magnus’ little nod, and then left with his father. He wasn’t sure where they were headed, until he saw Isabelle running towards them, her leather, riding gear still on, but her hair was flowing out over her shoulder.

Robert held out his arms, and Isabelle flew into them at full speed, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck. Alec could see her smile as she buried herself into Robert’s shoulder, and the king laughed, loud and merry, pausing only to stumble back and regain his balance from the attack.

“Dad.” Isabelle cried.

“Hello, you.” Robert greeted with a chuckle. He pulled back, but still kept his arms around his daughter. “You look as free-spirited as always. Your mother would hate that.” He smiled again, his teasing gentle.

“Mother never does approve of my ways.” Izzy admitted, but she was smiling widely, and Alec didn’t think she cared too greatly about this.

Robert tilted her chin up. “You’re perfect.” He promised, and then seemed to remember the situation, and the reasons they were here in the first place. “So," He straightened up. ", we have a great deal to catch up on, I believe. Yes?”

Alec nodded. There was much to be discussed, and a brief time to cover it in. “We can talk in my tent.”

Exchanging a brief look with Magnus – whose lips tugged up into an understanding smile – Alec reluctantly stepped away, and led his father and sister towards one of the larger tents, ready to return to his duties.

~

_How long does it take to explain to your father that you’ve been on a life-changing quest?_

Really, it was getting absurd.

It was early afternoon, and Alec and his father were still hidden within the confides of the prince’s tent, alongside the princess.

Magnus tried to keep busy. Really, he did, but the anticipation was burning into him, even greater than the large fire in the centre of the camp.

And what a large camp it was. Now that Idris’ army had arrived, the hilltop was filled with masses of wheat-brown tents, and organised drills; knights keeping warm through exercises and runs. Magnus was almost impressed by the way they seemed to move as one movement, one body. He watched as they sharpened swords, collected firewood, readjusted armour and stitched clothes together. There was a familiarity to their movements, and a much-needed confidence to the worried group.

Magnus and the others had been a smaller unit for so long now, he hadn’t realised what a new pair of eyes – or a hundred – could do.

Although, here he was, sitting by a smaller fire, towards the centre of the camp, threading flowers and leaves into twigs and ignoring his thoughts. Or, trying to. They kept nudging him, persisting him to wonder why Alec was taking so long.

Were they discussing him at all? Was Robert frowning, urging his son to keep his distance from a warlock who could destroy everything Idris stood for-

“Stop worrying.” The redhead girl beside him said. Clary was keeping him company, though Magnus didn't know why exactly. She was quiet, occasionally rubbing at her temples. Something had been bothering her for a short while, but she hadn't been able to focus her gift. It wasn't dark magic, but a new sensation. They were quiet as they sat together, both lost in their own thoughts.

Until now. 

“Shh," Magnus muttered, closing his eyes and concentrating. "I’m trying to develop miraculous hearing so I can eavesdrop.”

Clary snorted. “Let me know how that works out.”

“I will.” Magnus bit back, lifting his chin and ignoring the laughter that came from the girl.

The figure beside Clary decided that now was the best moment to join in. “Stop teasing the old man.” Luke said, offering them a wry chuckle as he leaned back into the makeshift chair; an old oak tree stump.

“I _am_ old, and very wise." Magnus warned. He stabbed a finger in Luke's direction before noticing the dainty petals stuck to his hands. It ruined the threat entirely. He tried anyway. "Mock me at risk of your demise, Lucian.” Magnus muttered. He made sure to keep his tone light, not wanting the remark to present itself as cold.

It wasn't their fault he was in a foul mood. 

“Wait, I thought your name was Luke?” Jace frowned. He was sitting across from them and working through a batch of dull swords with Lydia. The blades were in desperate need of sharpening. The pair worked through them carefully, but quickly, lingering only when they handed over a new blade to the other. Only then would their gazes meet, and their fingers graze across palms, allowing themselves the time to share an intimate moment.

“It is.” Lydia explained, arching an eyebrow for confirmation, and nodding when Luke gave her a brief one firstly. Her knee bumped into Jace’s, in such a natural manner, that Magnus didn’t even try to hide his smile. It was a joy to watch the pair, having finally started to open up their hearts. “It’s just shorted.” She elaborated.

“Like Magnus’ temper.” Clary mumbled, and Luke didn’t even bother to suppress the bark of laughter that came, and rather proudly so, from his direction.

Magnus tried to find the resolve to snap back, or grin and wave his hand, and regain control of the sickening ache in his stomach. None of the options would sooth him. Control was inevitably lost. He was outside. Alec was inside. He was in the dark, and the king, and his children, were enlightened.

Before he could stab at another twig – he was aggressively weaving twigs through grass blades and fallen, crispy leaves, a lovely distraction he had borrowed from a faerie custom from the Summer Court – Clary reached out and patted his hand. “Magnus, relax. Everything will work itself out.”

He let the rhythm of his weaving become slower. Gradually, the worry faded, from the simple, soothing action of choosing petals, but also from Clary’s kindness. Around the circle, everyone else was smiling as well, or offering a sympathetic look.

It was their open affection that moved Magnus into smiling again. He finished weaving in a final, violet petal, and then presented it, with graceful flourish, before Clary. “There you go.” He announced. “A strange and beautiful crown for a strange and beautiful girl.”

Clary rolled her eyes, but took it without a second thought. Her grin was good-natured as she placed it on top of her head, and then adjusted it. It sat perfectly, a contrast of soft colours against her red hair. She nodded in thanks, her smile turning gentle. “Alec and I don’t agree on much, but with that charm, I think we can agree that it’s no surprise why he’s so smitten with you.” She told him.

Just for a small, heartbeat of a second, Magnus smiled. “Oh. Well, thank you, dear.” His worries, his fears, were turning into joy again. He could hear the music again, the one inside his chest. As hope regained its power, Magnus couldn't help but keep on smiling. In a world filling to the brim with war and chaos, Magnus had chosen to pursue love, and he was fairly certain that his heart had chosen well. He would have faith in it, in love, and in Alec.

After that, Magnus began to collect more nearby twigs and weave slowly, carefully, the distraction becoming a simple pastime as they chatted around the circle.

The sun would lower soon, but for now, there was still light. The rare beam of sunlight would warm Magnus’ knees, and he waited for them to arrive, and missed them instantly when they faded-

_“CLARY!”_

The cry tore through the wind. It felt like the sound of glass crashing to the marble, or a bird screeching out one final, bloody war cry, before falling headfirst, and snapping its neck with a fatal crack. It was a wounded sound. The person behind it was alone, afraid, tired and desperate.

The voice was, also, coming from across the camp.

It was a forlorn shout that echoed with ease, and might.

Magnus tensed, realising that there was only a single reason for such a desperation. Only one person it could belong to.

It was a _mother’s_ cry.

Clary sat up, with sudden fear in her eyes. Her fingertips dropped down from her temples to her sides, as the source of her earlier aches came into view. She launched upright and began to shove at the surrounding knights, forcing them to part, until the voice grew louder, its owner closer.

“Mom!” She cried out.

Luke was also on his feet in an instant. “Jocelyn?” His question was spoken in a whisper, but Magnus caught it, and felt the shock begin to turn to hope. He stood by Clary, staying close to the fire, but pushed for the knights to move.

Finally, a tall, bewildered woman suddenly stumbled into the circle. The gathering crowd of knights parted easily. Her dark auburn hair was tangled and unruly, and she was dressed in loose, chestnut pants, and a cornflower blue tunic that reached her knees. The edges blew in the breeze as she spun around, searching, searching, and then-

“Oh. _Clary_.”

The woman – Jocelyn, Magnus presumed – wore a frightened expression, but her features were beautiful, and her resemblance to the younger red-haired girl was easily recognised. The same sharp eyes. The same curving, thin, but elegant mouth.

“Clary, I-“

Jocelyn had taken another step forwards, but her toe caught a bump in the ground and she lurched forwards. She seemed lost and disorientated: in a way that suggested she had not run, or even walked, in a while.

Acting quickly, Luke closed the distance between them and caught Jocelyn. With care, he reached and swept her up into his arms. Even from further away, Magnus caught the unmistakable love written clearly over Luke’s handsome face; lost and found all at once as he held Jocelyn in his arms, his hands cradling her head, and legs, as she fought to regain awareness.

“I’ve got you. Jocelyn. It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe.”

After a long moment, she seemed to recognise him, and all traces of fear, of uncertainty, disappeared. She wove her arms around the Alpha's neck, hugging him close. There was laughter, from both of them, in that breathless, delighted expression of holding something you once thought had left forever.

“Luke.” Jocelyn murmured. She was still in his arms, but had pulled back, tenderly cupping his face between her hands as she smiled. It was a gentle smile, not fully reaching the corners of her lips, but it was enough to express her joy. “Oh, Luke. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“As did I.”

The knights had stayed in their places, as unsure spectators, and then, upon seeing that the reunion was private – or perhaps not caring regardless – turned back to their drills. A few heads stayed in the directions of the sudden new addition to the camp, but others, through trust, or disinterest, returned to their duties.

“Mom?”

At the quiet question, Jocelyn spun her head around sharply, noticing Clary once again. Her eyes widened, and she didn’t need to say another word because Luke understood, and lowered her carefully, still holding an arm as Jocelyn turned towards her daughter.

“Clary.” Jocelyn whispered. A few tendrils of her hair lashed across her forehead in the wind. She didn’t care. There was only Clary, and Jocelyn was silent, and so still, as she took in the sight of her daughter, grown and older, and alive.

“Mom.” Clary repeated. The choking, constricted sound of her voice matched a similar feeling in Magnus’ own throat. The reunion was tugging at his heart in such an overwhelming way, and he watched the scene with tears stinging behind his eyelids.

What a moment it was to witness. The sheer joy, the surprised, heightened emotion of it all, was a dream come true.

Magnus remained silent, letting the trio reunite in peace.

Jocelyn was cradling the back of her daughter’s head with her hand as she began to cry. Her shoulders shook, and because he was facing her, Magnus could watch as the tears fell, slowly, glistening and proud as she clung happily to her daughter. Jocelyn had her other hand held out behind her, still linking it with Luke’s. The Alpha was watching on with a look in his eyes that could only be described as devoted. Enraptured.

“I don’t mean to ruin the moment, really,” Jace’s voice was a sharp cut through the quiet, content joy. He held out a hand in apology, but kept walking forwards. “, but what if this is a trap?”

_Bugger._

Acting on impulse, the closest knights withdrew their swords.

Soon there was a ring of silver, shining blades pointed at Clary’s mother.

Magnus couldn’t bring himself to fault their concern. He had been caught up in the beauty, and had overlooked the danger, the possibility that it was unlike it appeared to be.

“I can explain.” Jocelyn said, quietly. “I have answers. For everything.” She held up both hands, and although there was tension in her expression now, Magnus was impressed with her self-control. She faced the people around her with the kind of strength that manifested itself in a presence, not a word. Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed, fierce in concentration, and Magnus certainly didn’t need to question whose mother she was.

Luke’s eyes flashed green as he glared at the surrounding knights. The power in the Alpha’s gaze was a warning. One or two people flinched back, but no one backed down, and despite Jocelyn’s calm reaction, Magnus was still unsure.

The sound of parting curtains drew their attention to a short distance away, at where, after a few moments, three figures came rushing out. As the trio joined the outside camp, Alec quickly threw a hand over his father, ever the protective knight, as well as prince. Isabelle's eyes widened, and she mouthed something to Clary, who nodded. 

“What is happening?” Alec demanded, and then his eyes caught up with him. As his eyes grew wide – and after he had slowly taken in the older, red-haired woman now being placed under suspicion – Alec’s jaw clenched with tension. He took a careful step forwards, after making sure that Robert was standing still, and away from the circle.

“Jocelyn Fairchild?”

“Yes.” She answered swiftly. Now it was Jocelyn’s turn to acknowledge the things she was seeing. Noting Alec’s colours, and the royal seal etched into his tunic, she inclined her head. “Your Highness.” She shifted, looking back. “Your Majesty.” She greeted Robert with respect and dignity, neither begging or challenging, or seeking their approval.

Magnus had to admit that he rather liked the woman. So far.

Before anyone could suggest a plan, Jocelyn took charge. She lingered on Clary, smiling again, and then her expression shifted back to the rigid, determined mask of someone bearing difficult news. “He knows you’re here. Valentine. I was sent to…carry a message. I know I have a lifetime of questions to answer.” She was looking at Clary, and this time, there was guilt softening her tough exterior.

“Alec,” Robert suddenly called out, and everyone turned to listen. His stern expression left no room for any protests.

“Begin the war council.” The king said. “Immediately.”

~

Obeying his father’s request, the largest tent available was set up within a short while, overseen by Alec.

The task kept his brain from overthinking. The arrival of Jocelyn had suddenly thrown him into a sea of concern again, but he focused on managing the council’s space.

The set up was simple and hastily thrown together. Still, it contained enough room for a single, long table that curved at both end, as well as a separate, second head table for members of the royal court; Robert, Isabelle, and Alec himself.

A handful of maps were scattered across the wooden surfaces, but apart from that, the room was bare of colour.

Until the council entered.

Knights came in pairs, or small groups, their red cloaks bringing warmth into the tent. Their army was divided into segments, each led by a head knight. It was these head knights who claimed a seat at the war council table, leaving the others to crowd around the table and wait patiently alongside everyone else. A handful of villagers were allowed in as well, as per Alec’s request. Robert had frowned at that, but approved the odd invitation anyway.

Ironically, it was the four thrones placed at the head table that caused the most stir.

As soon as Robert approached, he stilled. His eyes traced over each throne, counting, and Alec could practically feel his confusion turning to realisation. “Since when did warlocks sit at the head table?” He asked coolly. As he spoke, Robert took one of the middle thrones. He focused on settling into it rather than meeting Alec’s look.

“Since now.” Alec said, stubbornly. He sounded like a child, and quickly sought to correct his slip up. He lifted his chin and explained, in a calm manner, “The head table is for leaders. Magnus is a leader.” Hopefully, this was a better cover for his need to have Magnus by his side.

“Not royalty.” Robert continued to protest.

The hypocrisy of it all made Alec, finally, snap. “I’m sure that we're only royalty because someone, somewhere, along our bloodline, decided to kill for it.” He barely recognised the sharpness to his voice. He carried on, unfazed by the king’s surprised look. “The power we have is born from bloodshed, father. How do you see history? You sweep it under the rug. Magnus is a leader in every sense that matters, as are we. Caring for our people, strategies, and compassion, are traits we all share.”

Judging by the clouded anger forming across Robert’s face, his father didn’t agree, but he didn’t fight Alec anymore. At least, not verbally. Isabelle remained quiet, but flashed her brother a quick, proud smile, hiding it from view. 

When Magnus walked into the tent moments later, the king simply nodded once, and said nothing, and the prince sighed, a deep, relieved sound. There would be more disagreements, but at least he had reigned over the first.

_Of many,_ he thought, half dryly, and half sadly.

Just then, Magnus reached for his hand, in greeting, and then curled it around the throne arm instead, his nails dyed a deep blue, rich and royal. Alec hid his proud grin well. Had Magnus chosen the strong, bold colour in a deliberate, private sabotage? Was he blending in, and insulting at the same time? It was, Alec admitted, charming, devilish, and delightfully gleeful. His rings twinkled, and tiny stones lined Magnus lashes, sharp and dangerous. He was a prince, or a god, Alec thought, draped over the throne like he owned it. He was enriched in ebony robes, the black so deep, and dark, with a muted golden trim around the hemlines.

It took all of Alec’s might not to climb onto the throne, into Magnus’ lap, and kiss him senselessly. For a moment, he imagined it, and then deeply regretted such a foolish decision. It was a dangerous dream. But he could almost feel how delicately Magnus would kiss him, while scraping his nails across the nape of his neck, moaning against his soft lips and teasing him, building up the urge, the _yearning_ , for more-

“Alec?”

“Hm? Yes?”

“I was…yeah. Yeah?”

_Lost, thinking about Magnus’ nails against my-_

“The plan?”

“Right. Yes. _Yes_.” Alec said again, slowly. He hadn't even realised that everyone had gathered inside. He composed himself and asked, “Why don’t we start with Jocelyn Fairchild? Where is she?”

“Right here.” Clary spoke up, a hard edge to her voice. It matched the defensive expression she wore as she stood up. There was an arm resting on her mother’s shoulder as they stood together, and addressed the head table.

Jocelyn inclined her head respectfully, but her lips were pressed into a thin line. Still, she didn’t appear to be threatening, despite the strength in her eyes, and the firmness of her grip on the table. Whether or not he would trust her was unclear, but Alec knew that Jocelyn was as capable, and headstrong, as the daughter she had bore. 

“What can you tell us about Valentine Morgenstern?”

The first reaction Jocelyn gave was turning to Clary, away from royalty. She had eyes only for her daughter as she asked, “Are you ready to hear this?”

Clary nodded, after only a brief flash of hesitation. “Yes. We all need to.”

And so, Jocelyn begun her tale. 

“After Anna left with you, Valentine knew that I…wouldn’t cooperate. I would not stand by and watch him gain the Mortal Cup and slaughter us all. Not when I...couldn't stop it the first time." She paused, regret lingering in the silence. "There was no one left I trusted in the land, but unfortunately, someone else arrived at the right, and wrong time. Dorothea. That was her name."

Again, pained twisted Jocelyn's beauty into steel. She gripped the table so hard that her fingers turned white. "She was a warlock, and a brave one too. She offered to try and smuggle me out of the camp, but I knew Valentine would set fire to the Shadowlands itself to find me. Instead, I asked her for help. To keep me…subdued." She turned towards her daughter. "I didn’t want to give up your location, Clary, but I refused to stay with him. I wouldn’t stand by and watch more innocent blood being spilled.”

Not wanting to interrupt the moment, Alec waited.

“How did you meet her?”

He was surprised when Magnus spoke up instead. His interest was clearly piqued, but his question was sharp; curious, but guarded. 

“She was…one of Valentine’s prisoners."

Alec caught Magnus' fingers tensing against the throne's armrest.

Jocelyn carried on. "One night, she regained a little of her magic, enough to free herself. I told Dot to run, but she wouldn't. She wanted to help me. I couldn't stop her. She started gathering these ingredients, making small bottles and things appear. I can't remember what was in them, but she was brewing something that was a violet colour. It was so bright, almost blinding, but then it faded, and the last thing I remember is that she was thrusting it into the bars of my cage.” Jocelyn nodded, the story ending with an abrupt finish. 

“A potion.” Magnus confirmed Alec's thoughts, his voice carrying across the space easily. “What kind?” Magnus was leaning forwards now, resting an elbow elegantly along the throne’s arm.

Jocelyn shrugged. It wasn't a dismissive, thoughtless gesture. It was exhausted. Alec could see the weariness in her eyes, even from across the room. "The kind that makes you sleep." She said. "Forever.”

Magnus cocked his head to the side. Alec had seen this move many times. It was sometimes coy, or teasing, but this time, it was anything but. It was...dangerous. Challenging. Power radiated from him like he was made of magic itself. "Forgive me," Magnus coolly said. ", but we need to clear up your idea of forever. This,” Magnus gestured lazily to the standing woman. “, is not forever.”

Clary narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to likely protest, but shutting it. Alec was surprised by that, but then, it didn’t take more than a glance in the warlock’s direction to see why Clary was unsure about arguing. His cat eyes were still replaced with his mundane ones, but the dangerous glint in them was unavoidable. Here was a man, a leader, looking for answers, not someone to be toyed with.

Regardless of the war council occurring before him, Alec fell even deeper.

“So, my dear,” Magnus continued. “How have you come to be with us now?”

Alec was surprised when his father didn’t attempt to overrule his question, or command. He was just as interested in the past, yes, but the notion of a king submitting to a warlock’s control seemed almost impossible. Yet Robert was silent, watching Jocelyn, and waiting for her to continue.

“I think Valentine finally found a way break the potion’s magic. Using a dark spell." Jocelyn squared her jaw, ready for an argument. "He wanted me to convey a message to you, and to all the people of Idris.”

The room was silent, waiting.

“Valentine knows you are here.”

A sudden hush fell over the room, sweeping over the table like a shadowed, tumbling wave. It brought fear; so strongly, and prominently, that Alec was almost glad to be seated. He felt the fear sinking into everyone’s bones and shivered.

Their enemy would be prepared. Strong. Ready.

They had no element of surprise. 

Jocelyn continued, quietly, and there was regret in her voice. She had no choice but to reveal this, and Alec was beginning to realise why. She was the messenger. The throwaway. Valentine risked nothing by letting her go now, and Alec felt the fear deepen.

A fearless enemy was even worse than a strong one. They had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. 

“He sent you to convince us to surrender, yes?”

The way Magnus revealed the question was too calming. It didn’t settle well with Alec’s already taunt nerves. He began to dig his nails into his thigh.

Jocelyn didn’t reply at first, and Alec wondered if she was considering lying. But she made up her mind, and eventually gave a brief nod. “He’s not attacking because he thinks he’s unbeatable.” Jocelyn said. “Valentine’s army is-“

“Yes. The army.” Robert interrupted, holding up a hand. “Do you have any idea of the numbers? The creatures? How many downworlders are helping?”

“Or being forced to?” Magnus added coldly, and for a moment, Alec braced himself for the tension to snap, for the king, and the warlock, to come to blows.

Although Robert turned his head sharply, he didn’t respond with anger, or even dismissal. He simply regarded Magnus with a steady look. There was curiosity in its concentration, but then it was gone.

Robert turned back to address the woman at the far end. “Describe what we will face in battle.” He invited.

"Please." Isabelle added. 

“He has sorcerers. Many.” Jocelyn began, staring down at her hands, and then up, and around at the table. She was drawing everyone in, focusing their attention. It was important, Alec knew this, and he was glad when his friends, knights and warriors, leaned in. “Some are younger, drawn into his schemes because they desire - crave - power. Valentine believes in the superiority of the Angels, that our blood is, forgive me, pure.” She glanced towards Magnus, and held his gaze, and Alec was somewhat proud that she didn’t shy away from the real issue there; in Valentine’s wishes, and ideas.

Magnus’ jaw clenched, but he nodded, giving her the sign to go on.

“His army is small, but powerful. As well as the sorcerers he has drawn in, there are faeries. Ones who are vengeful against the people of Idris for isolating them, for forcing them into the Shadowlands. Some simply believe that Valentine will win, and have chosen to ally themselves with the one who will reign victorious. And,” She paused. “, he has demons. Summoned with the sacrifices he has already made. Some of the sorcerers were able to place demons into downworlders, possessing them.”

“We know this already.” Luke said, but not unkindly. “For years now, we have started to see the signs of this. How many, roughly?”

“Demons in their true forms?" Jocelyn sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Many. Valentine still seeks the Cup, but he would snap out of his…obsession, at times, and remember to build up an army. He summoned all kinds of demons, but some slipped free from his control. The sorcerers can control them, but not always. They require a strong leader, and Valentine isn’t. He has ambition, and strength, but he doesn’t care to unite his people.” Jocelyn finally looked up. “Not like you can.”

“But still, his numbers are great.” Jocelyn finished with a defeated look.

Robert shook his head in an attempt to clear some of the doubt filling the room. “And we have an army, and more to come.” He reminded them, but even to Alec’s ears, the words fell short of any victory.

“What if they don’t?” Magnus asked. He noted Alec’s surprised reaction to his question, and felt his tone lower in sad defeat. “I have seen it happen before. Armies promised turned to sudden abandonment. People flee, loyalties sway, and even those born with a taste for bloodshed tremble on the battlefield. Faeries are fickle with sides, and I make no judgement there. We protect our own, as do you.”

“This war demands unity.” Alec spoke up, louder this time. “Downworlders and mortals.”

“You haven’t lived in the darkness before.” Clary suddenly said. “While I was under the spell, I heard them. Cries and miserable lives being lived simply because they had no other way. Some people don’t have hope, and the promise of a better future is just that: a word, an idea. It’s not reachable." Clary was less defeated than her mother, her fire still burning strong. "We have to wait and see.”

“Fine. In the meantime, let us work with the resources we do have.” Alec went on, determined to remain practical, and sensible, in the face of completely terror. “The warlocks will oversee the weapons. They need to be enchanted with magic to fight, yes?”

Magnus’ eyes widened. “Yes.” His smile softened. “You remembered.”

For a second or two, Alec was back on the long pathway to the Guild, carefully handing over his bow to Magnus and wondering why he trusted the warlock so easily to give it back unharmed. He was back to slowly falling in love, back to long conversations and easy laughter. He was at the beginning.

“Yes.” Alec finally said, trying to return back to the present. He allowed himself one last look in Magnus’ direction, and then addressed the gathered room. “Then we will do as followed.”

Without turning to his father for permission, Alec stood, leaning both hands on the table. He kept his back rigid and straight, and his gaze focused and sure. He was confident. He had faith. “Continue sharpening the defence formations we discussed before. I want reports of any ideas, or new formations. If you have a suggestion, share it. Now is not the time to be humble.” He invited. “We will train together.” He let this sink in, and then elaborated further. “Downworlders, knights, villagers, and anyone else. _Together_. Does anyone object?” He said this sincerely, meeting the eyes of everyone around the table. He held them, both as a challenge, and an instruction.

He was met with agreement by all, and felt his shoulders relax slightly.

Most surprising of all, was the king's nod. “Name the time, Alec.” Robert said.

Alec took in a deep breath. He was startled at the power he was being given, entrusted with choosing the right time for a war that could destroy, or save, them all.

“In six days, we fight.”

It was more than enough time to prepare, and yet, it was nothing at all. 

Six days.

Six days until the battle came.

Alec could see an hourglass inside his mind. The sand started slipping, faster and faster, and his fingers could not stop it.

Nothing could.

~

“I can’t believe it’s you!”

“Oh, Simon!”

Clary was running forwards, and into the arms of a boy she had not seen since childhood.

Her best friend from so long ago, a mousy-haired boy who stumbled and sweetly smiled and played with her in the village, was now a young man. He was handsome, and at least a few heads taller than her now, which Clary resented for all but three seconds, until Simon had wrapped her in a tight hug, like the years didn’t matter at all. And they didn’t.

They were together again, the two troublemakers of the Eaststone village, a short ride away from the Lightwood Castle.

After the war council, she had excused herself from her mother – who looked disappointed, and then relieved to have a moment’s peace with Luke – and rushed out into the camp, hoping to find a face she’d wanted to see since the ships arrived.

And she’d found him, finally. Simon Lewis. Her best friend from years before.

“I thought you moved away. Well, from what I remember, which isn’t much, the attack frightened a lot of families away.” Simon looked crestfallen, as if he was reliving the awful moments again. “I thought my best friend had left me. I thought I’d never see you again, Clary.” He nuzzled his nose against her temple playfully, and she giggled, relaxing into that familiar warmth of an old friend.

“Oh, you haven’t changed at all!” She beamed up at him, and then noticed one change. “Actually, these are different.” She stabbed a forefinger into the index of Simon’s nose, pushing up his glasses with a grin.

“Not all of us are gifted.” Simon muttered. “Some of us have poor eyesight and a complete lack of coordination.”

“You’re you, Simon, and don’t you ever go changing.” Clary warned him, but she was laughing again as he pulled her into another hug, swinging her around so that her feet flew through the air around them.

“So, should I be jealous?”

The voice that called out was teasing, and Clary didn't need to open her eyes to see Izzy's smile. 

When she opened them, Clary was ready to explain, and said, "No-" 

At the same time, Simon cried out, “Iz!”

Clary was then abandoned by her friend, and watched as Simon tugged the princess into a comforting hug, wrapping his arms around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the land.

And was it? Judging by the way Isabelle laughed, and swung her arms up and around his neck, it was.

_Well then._

Jealousy tickled at her stomach, causing a slight pressure against her rib cage. It wanted to get into her heart, but she didn’t let it.

Instead, Clary clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “I take it you two are…close.” She sweetly smiled, knowing without fail that it was as bitter as unseasoned meat.

“We do!” Simon said cheerfully, and he didn’t focus on Clary’s expression long enough to see her subdued rage. He carried on explaining, blissfully unaware. “Isabelle is my best friend. One of my best friends.” Simon hastily corrected. He glanced between the two then, caught between excitement, joy, and sudden worry. “You two have met, yes? You’ve journeyed together, of course you’ve met. Stupid question.”

“Yes, we’ve _met_.” Clary repeated. She was tempted to just march over and steal a fierce kiss from the princess, just so Simon would stop smiling at her like that.

And then, something faded her fears into surprise, followed by a sly realisation. A knight was walking over to them, dark-haired, tall and wearing a stern expression. It shifted when he greeted Simon.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” The knight began, and judging from Simon’s surprised, gaping mouth, this wasn’t the usual thing expected from the man. “, but I need you. To speak with you.” He spoke shortly, to the point. Yet there was an impatience to his question that demanded Simon, just like Clary had been demanding Isabelle’s attention moments before. Was there something between them?

Clary wondered this further, especially when Simon scratched at his ear and pushed up his already-settled glasses onto the bridge of his nose.

The boy nodded. “Y-yes. Yes.” He mumbled. Simon turned, and addressed the two ladies, shifting from side to side. “I’ll be back. Soon. I think. You two should get to know each other!" Simon beamed.

Clary saved her laughter for later. Simon's oblivious nature was making her cheerful again. 

With that, he walked off, side by side with the taller knight, and Clary was suddenly left feeling rather ashamed of her temper. She hid the guilt well.

“Please tell me you’re jealous of Simon. My _friend_. That will amuse me for hours.”

Apparently, Clary hadn’t it well at all.

Isabelle had closed the distance between them so quickly that Clary was left blinking, and slowly choosing her words, while she adjusted to Isabelle’s brightness, and beauty, being so close. The other girl was grinning, toying with a curl around her finger as she stood there, cocking her head. She was preening like Magnus, and Clary couldn’t help but stifle an eye roll. Had she been taking tips from everyone’s favourite warlock?

_Magnus Bane’s guide to flirtatious gestures and signs: specifically for Lightwoods._

Clary prayed that her cheeks wouldn’t burn. She folded her arms across her chest. “No.” She said. “I was not jealous. Just…impatient. And tired.” Clary admitted with a sigh, and she hadn’t realised the truth of this until just now. Her mother had returned, alive and well, and although she was delighted, shocked and would still sometimes feel a tear fall, the emotions had left her drained.

Lashing out at Simon and Isabelle was childlike. She was about to attempt an apology, when Isabelle spoke first.

“Hey, you,” The princess captured her attention softly, and raised a hand to gently cup one side of Clary’s face. “You’ve had an eventful day, huh? Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll wake you when the fire gets going. We can train later?”

Clary stared at her, enjoying the fingers that brushed against her cheek, stroking slowly back and forth. Eventually, she nodded, keeping her eyes on Izzy’s. “I think you’re right. I don’t like it, but I can’t keep up like this.”

“Like a glorious, burning ember?” Isabelle murmured. She traced the bottom of Clary’s jaw, following the tension in the girl’s bones, until she reached the soft earlobe, cupping the back of her neck. “Like someone who cares deeply, and isn’t afraid to show it?”

Clary forced herself to remain still, not to break the contact. She sighed into the touch. “Is this you forgiving me?” She asked with a slightly breathless laugh. “Because if so, then by the Angel, do I approve.”

“For what, the jealousy?” Isabelle asked, before giving a delighted laugh. “I rather enjoyed that.” The sound flew into the air, and Clary immediately felt better, even before she had rested. There was energy left in her after all, and she was already smiling, because Isabelle had laughed and suddenly the day had potential once again.

“Hm, well, don’t get used to it.”

“In all seriousness, I do want you to know this.” Isabelle said, and she let go of Clary’s face, only to seek out her hand, which was dropped to her side. She lifted it slowly, and simply held it. In a world filled with temptations and evils, it was an anchor. Clary held onto it tenderly, giving back just as easily. “I have eyes for you. No one else, Clary.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to get…like that. My temper is-“

“Hot.” Isabelle finished, and she didn’t need to raise an eyebrow to get the meaning across. She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue swiping against her lower lip.

“Right.” Clary said, swallowing as she followed the movement. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “Uh…sleep.” She still didn’t move. “I need sleep.”

Isabelle tucked in a strand of her hair and nodded. “You do. And Clary,” She squeezed her hand one last time. “Only you, remember?”

Those words would keep Clary company all afternoon, evening, and long into the hours of the dark night. She knew it without hesitation.

The cord around her heart began to sing, no longer pulling itself in countless directions. There was only way it wanted to journey to, and it followed the pull of Clary’s soul, her desires, her wants, her _needs_.

To Isabelle.

_Only you._

~

“So, you wanted to see me…because?”

“It’s very important, Simon. I need you to pay attention. There will be no time for fooling around when you’re here, yes?”

As he searched through the huge trunk that he was unpacking, Raphael hid his expression, having little faith that he was hiding his uncertainty well.

_There is no reason. I just pulled you away from your best friend for absolutely no reason. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. She is beautiful. I saw how you were looking at her. Do you smile at anyone else like that, or just her?_

Raphael should’ve said one of those reasons. Instead, he reached for an object, and turned back around.

“You will need this.” He handed a large, leather-bound, empty book to the frowning boy. “During the battle. To record the number of injured knights, and the ones…who pass.” He glanced at a spot just below Simon’s nose, where a tiny freckle sat above his upper lip. He waited.

It was after a long pause that Simon finally outstretched an arm and took it from him.

“Okay…” Simon said slowly, holding the book gingerly before thumbing through it. He took in the sight of the empty pages with a vacant expression. It was a rare lack of character for someone like Simon, and it was concern that made Raphael step closer.

“Is there a problem?” He asked. “You are still preparing to assist with the battle, from here, yes?” His hands were closed fists by his sides, but wondering if the gesture was too invasive, Raphael settled for holding them behind his back instead.

“It’s just…”

“What?”

Simon lifted his chin so quickly that Raphael almost took a step back again. The bookkeeper fidgeted with the empty pages, the paper crinkling under his fingertips, but his gaze was strong, sure. Almost…angered. When he spoke, it was an angry mutter. “I’d better not see your face here during the battle.”

“Excuse me?”

Hesitation flickered across Simon’s face, but then it hardened, turning to a confident, cold kind of fury. “You heard me.”

To say in the least, Raphael was taken aback by the bluntness. Simon had always been honest, but this was a new layer, a hint of darker fury beneath the kindness. It was protective, though Raphael was shocked to see it directed not towards him, but _about_ him.

Raphael allowed himself time to regain his composure. When had he seen Simon look so headstrong before? He was keeping his ground, also; not glancing away from the knight, or making an attempt to soften his statements.

In fact, Simon threw back his shoulders, straightened completely and even stabbed a finger in Raphael’s direction. “I mean it. Don’t you _dare_ be a hero.” He insisted. “You have to come back to m-“ He suddenly broke off, almost as abruptly as he’d begun. He gripped the book tightly, but finally broke eye contact, as if coming to the realisation that he had spoken out of line. 

But Raphael wasn’t angry. Or even surprised anymore. He was simply speechless, drawn in by Simon’s words; his hurt, and urgency.

The knight was about to say something, when Simon quickly smiled, as if to cover up a truth he had mistakenly shared. What was he afraid to say? Their friendship had been a surprise to Raphael, but he had been sure that Simon was grateful for it, just like Raphael was.

Could it be that the knight had misread the responses?

“Just…be safe.” Simon said. The softness was back, but the anger was still lingering in the background. “As safe as you can, at least.” He didn’t move, and the warmth of his breath was just about reaching the tip of Raphael’s nose. He fought back a smile when Simon pushed up the glasses he wore, knowing fore well that they were already aligned.

“I’m a knight.” Raphael reminded him, but tried to keep any self-pity out of his voice and words. He understood now. Simon was concerned. Of course he was. He had the biggest heart that Raphael had ever seen. It made sense that he would worry for everyone’s well being.

But no matter how desperately he tried to convince it, Raphael’s heartbeat was drumming a strong, hopeful beat inside his chest.

“Promise me. Raphael, please. You’ll make it back, yes?”

Raphael decided he could no longer take it. “Why do you care?” He suddenly asked, but thankfully, although he had rushed out the words, they were not angry. If it was supposed to be said sharply, he had failed. The words were soft, frightened, and perhaps even vulnerable. Raphael wanted to shield himself all of a sudden, to cast himself in armour and step away. Limit the risks.

He was sure that his hands were not trembling from the cold either.

“We’re friends.” Simon said, with ease.

And with that, Raphael’s heart decided that it was best, like always, to remember its place. To remember that pain was always the outcome, not love.

He was about to turn away, and excuse himself, when Simon reached out. His hand curled around Raphael’s wrist, keeping the knight in place, just like he had done on the ship, all those weeks ago.

Raphael didn’t speak, or protest. He didn’t shake away Simon’s wrist either, and waited and watched as the other man held it, before looking up to meet his gaze.

“We’re more than that, aren’t we?”

Although Simon spoke tentatively, and swallowed visibly from the question, he gripped Raphael’s hand with surprising firmness.

Forcing whatever valour he could find into his blood, and into his hand, Raphael swallowed, and raised his free hand. He brushed Simon’s chin with a feather-light touch, before setting his jaw in determination. Gripping Simon’s chin firmly, Raphael lifted it, so that there was nowhere left for Simon to look but up, and up he did. He glanced upwards without shyness, or reservation. Raphael could see even the smallest of crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He felt warm, and rooted, and so sure of this moment’s worth.

It was, also, with the lightest of touches that Raphael’s lips met Simon’s. For two fighters, two survivors, the kiss was the softest of embraces. It was short, also, but Raphael lingered in it for as long as possible, and relaxed into it. The overwhelming warmth in his stomach spun into an aching pleasure.

Simon’s lips parted easily, making Raphael clear – very clear – about one particular detail. Simon hadn’t just been waiting for the kiss. He had been waiting to _return_ it.

When he pulled away, Raphael swore he had left a part of his soul against Simon’s lips. Now that he had felt the comfort of a kiss, the solitude of it, he felt colder, lonelier without it.

“I’ll come back. I’ll return.” _Home_ , he almost said, but Raphael no longer knew what home was. He knew what it _felt_ like. It felt like Simon’s smile, and Simon’s joyful laughter, and the depths waiting to be shared.

“You promise?” Simon murmured. His cheeks were tinted a pink, but he was smiling slightly, a small, shy one.

Raphael nodded, once. “Yes. After all, who else would take you under their wing?” He teased carefully, making sure his voice wasn’t too harsh. He wouldn’t ruin one of their last moments together, and that was what he feared it was. Something to be treasured as he lay on the battlefield and waited for heaven to claim him.

This, fortunately, seemed to relax Simon, and he nodded in agreement, his smile turning mischievous. “Hm. You do play a mean game, Sir.” He said, and Raphael swore there was flirtation in the remark.

Simon placed the book down on the table, and within a moment, it was forgotten. Raphael waited, and again, it was Simon who spoke first.

“Oh, I almost forgot, the others want me to sing. Again. It’s almost sunset, and campfire songs are tradition before a battle. It…keeps the spirit strong and brave. Not that you need more of that.”

If he hadn’t been sure before, Raphael was now entirely sure that Simon Lewis was teasing him, and his smile was far from innocent as it curved his features into a playful look.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Lead on.”

And five days later, on the eve of battle, Raphael still felt the shivers run down his spine when Simon poked his head into the tent. “The music is beginning again. Will you sit by me?” He asked quietly.

Raphael went, led by his heart. 

_Yes._ He wanted to say. _f tonight is my last night, I want to spend it beside you._

~ 

It was pointless. 

Entirely, foolishly, insanely pointless.

Magnus scrunched up the last free piece of parchment and flung it into the fire. 

He had sent letters to everyone he could think of, and by now, he was stretching his mind so far back, trying to remember anyone else who might be alive to help. It was an impossible task. Allies would arrive, or not. There was nothing he could do to change that now. 

Throughout the six days leading up to the battle, others had arrived. Werewolf packs from the North, and a group of faerie warriors who belonged to different Courts. Luciana had acted as their envoy, and greeted them into the camp. At first, they'd split into divisions, but then Alec suggested they put up the tents together, mixing. No divides amongst the camp.

After that, everyone worked together. Trained together, just like the council had been told to.  

But there was not enough training in the world to sooth Magnus. His concern was turning to fury, his temper flaring up. His magic was acting out too, which was why he'd decided to spend that afternoon alone, in a solitude where he could learn how focus his mind, and body. 

Taking it out on innocent paper seemed like a good idea.

He'd gone through some of his own drills, creating a barrier of magic around himself, and slowly releasing it, enjoying the rise and fall of his magic. 

They were attacking tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

How soon it had approached, yet, to Magnus, it was so far away. 

As he let the minutes drag on, there was another thing occupying his mind. Something other than a prince who was somewhere in the camp, likely just as stressed and worried as he was.

The prophecy. For days now, Magnus had been studying it, without sharing his concerns with another. 

Two lines in particular stole his interest:

" _Upon the day where the sun rises in its highest peak;_

_The final battle will sacrifice a life and reclaim a light."_

 

 What if tomorrow was the first of many battles? There could still be miles and miles to go.

Despite this, Magnus knew, somehow, from some divine, or hellish awareness, that tomorrow was it. The final battle. A shift, a victory, or a defeat would birth itself.

_And I will be there to see it._

Who would he see die this time? How many friends would he mourn and cry for? Come tomorrow evening, would Magnus even have enough stars to bear the names of the people lost in the battle?

And their only plan was to get to Alicante, the island across the lake, and destroy the Cup.

Now that Alec had the Mortal Sword, he could do this, but it was easier said than done, and the dangers would be great. If only their allies had come through and kept their word. 

_Still no word from the Seelie Court. Those unfaithful buggers._

The Queen had promised her knights, and warriors, but apart from the lone group, none had arrived.

As well as this, they had to protect Clary as well, who would be the target of so many. Valentine would tear down the land to find her, to gain the Cup’s power. Immortality in someone so cruel would destroy heaven, hell, and everything in between, Magnus mused. It wouldn’t just topple one kingdom. It would crush them all.

What could they do against it?

What could he do?

_There is someone you can go to. Someone more powerful than yourself. Summon him._

The person in question surely would not stand by and let his fiery kingdom burn down?

For a while, Magnus considered the idea. He toyed with it dangerously, thinking it over, and then over again, until he was left with a miserable cycle of anger and fury, and sorrow and worry.

Would summoning the Greater Demon only make the situation worse? Magnus was confident in his abilities to spot tricks and lies, but with his father, Asmodeus, there was simply no way to ask for a favour without submitting something in return.

His father had fallen from heaven willingly. Would Magnus do the same? Would he fall from grace, sacrifice his pride, and his freedom, to his father, in order to do what it took to save the love of his life? Would his father’s realm, Edom, contain answers-

“Magnus.”

His thoughts quickly dissolved, but the fear remained. He glanced up at the approaching figure and relaxed.

"Isabelle. Welcome to my humble...grass." Magnus frowned at the log he sat on, and the empty, grassy place he'd chosen to sulk in, away from camp.  

The bowls in Isabelle’s hands rattled quietly as she came over to sit by him. "Hi, you." She was dressed in unusually plain gear, a simple brown shirt and a flowing skirt the colour of blackberries.

Magnus scrutinised the contents of the bowls as she walked over, frowning at the strange supplies of what appeared to be fine sand, or powdered dye; the small bowls each containing a different colour; midnight black, stormy gray, wine-red.

“Has Clary been teaching you to paint?” Magnus couldn’t help but tease. He arched an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. It was a nice distraction from the concern he felt about the upcoming battle, and their unpredictable allies.

“No.” Isabelle said. She balanced the bowls on her knees, before turning to him with an imploring smile. “Can you take these to my brother, please? I would, but my hands are tied elsewhere, you know, what with the battle of a lifetime right around the corner.” She said the last bit dryly, but Magnus knew her well enough to sense the nerves. She didn’t meet his gaze, staring down into the bowls as her hands clutched them tightly.

Magnus also knew the princess well enough to catch the ulterior motive behind her request. “Hm.” He mused. “Are you certain no one else could do it?”

There was no hint of her usual teasing when Izzy smiled. In the light of the setting sun, it softened her features, and also made her seem older; wiser. “There are over a hundred men and women in this camp, Magnus,” Isabelle quietly said. “, and I don’t need to ask to know that Alec would choose, out of everyone here, to spend tonight with you.” She transferred the bowls over onto Magnus’ lap, squeezed his hand and said, “Go to him. Sitting here and waiting for a miracle isn’t going to do you any good. If we hear from the Seelie Court, or anyone else, you’ll be the first to know. In the meantime, please take these to Alec. They’re very important. He’ll be expecting them.”

Isabelle climbed back onto her feet, her hair falling back over her shoulders. “If tonight is all you have left, how do you want to spend it?” She asked softly. “Sitting alone, or with the man you love?”

Until that moment, Magnus hadn’t realised just how much time he was wasting.

For an immortal, he could be careless with time, fooled into believing it was his enemy, but a distant one. It would always return to take away someone he loved, but after a while, Magnus would become almost numb to it, and then the crushing mortality would rush back into his heart.

He was immortal, until he wasn’t. Power did not mean living forever.

Isabelle was right, in more ways than one.

He would not waste another second of the night. With a war ahead of them, and darkness threatening to spill into even the tiniest cracks in the land, happiness had to be fought for with every second.

Those around the campfire were laughing, and the sounds danced across the peak of the valley. For a long minute, Magnus pretended that there was only certainty in their tomorrows. Everyone would survive. Everyone who fought by his side would live to laugh again.

Isabelle was still waiting, watching him with an understanding, but firm look.

With a loud sigh – mainly for dramatic flair – Magnus surrendered. “Very well, my dear, if you insist. I shall deliver these strange gifts." 

Quickly laying a kiss on Isabelle’s cheek, Magnus thanked her with a smile, drew the bowls up into his arms, and carried them off, towards one of the larger tents that contained someone Magnus had been longing for since the year began.

Before he did, Magnus snapped his fingers, and added his own bowl to the collection, along with a handful of small bottles and ingredients. For the warlock’s ritual custom later, which he would perform after seeing the prince.

Still, he couldn’t help but look down and see how well they all went together, a mix of earthy woods, faded colourful dye, and magic.

It was appropriate for the pair: born of different worlds, but similar hearts.

Magnus took a deep breath, his forefinger skimming down the scarlet length of the tent’s entrance, the flaps slightly open.

"Alexander?" He called out.

~

Although Alec had helped himself to a goblet of wine - and it managed to warm his blood a little - it didn’t sooth his worries.

He was fairly sure that it was expected, but his head was swarming with every possibility, every wrong move that could be made tomorrow.

Staying away from the camp had been a good idea. He’d needed solitude for a while. Even now, with the quiet music beginning to play, Alec wanted to stay inside the comforts of the tent. He glanced around, taking in the spacious room. It was spacious, but comfortable. Candles were burning on each table, creating a soft glow to the room. They caught the richly woven carpet, the large two-seater, and the desk with an unnecessarily large mirror. The Sword rested carefully against it, proud and enchanting.

The drapes over the large bed made Alec cringe. There was something lonely about the bed, not because of its show of wealth and luxury, but because it was empty. It was adorned in lilac silks and deep, layered furs, with countless, small cushions draped over the four-poster bed lazily. Alec knew, as soon as climbed into it later, his only companion would be loneliness and fear.

There would be no one beside him, except for his thoughts-

“Alexander?”

_Magnus._

With a single word, Magnus' voice called out to him, and captured his attention entirely. 

“Come-“ He hadn’t spoken in a while, and coughed against the cracking in his voice. He waited, composing himself. The thin, loose cotton shirt he wore suddenly felt deprived of good etiquette.

He didn’t look like a prince. His cloak, chainmail and tunic were discarded, as was his crown, tossed onto a table far out of reach.

Alec shook his head, freeing those thoughts. 

What did it matter? It was Magnus, after all, and Alec knew that he would make him feel at ease within seconds.

“You can come in.”

It surprised Alec - and not at all pleasantly - when Magnus therefore stepped into the tent, his hand parting the flap with ease, and came into the space as though he wanted nothing more than to turn around and flee.

He was dressed in scarlet robes that nearly matched the tent, but he wore only a handful of necklaces with it. He looked older, tired and overcome with something that Alec couldn't quite put his finger on. 

"Hey." Alec greeted, the softness bouncing back from the tension. 

"How are you feeling?"

Alec just shrugged. How could he answer that?

Unspoken words appeared to dangle from the lights, and Alec was almost blinded by them.

They hadn't often felt uncomfortable in shared silence, but Alec felt it growing tense between them. For obvious reasons, the fears regarding the fight lingered. The prince desperately wanted to ignore them, to pretend that tomorrow did not exist, but Alec knew that would only explode later on.

He decided to start with something small. Safe.

“What’s in the bowls?”

“Oh, yes.” Magnus shook his head, as if breaking his own trance, and then stepped forwards and placed them on the low table nearby. They were an array of colours and wood, and Alec’s nose twitched as new scents also filled the air. Jasmine. Spice. The faded scent of strong dye.

Alec then realised what Isabelle had tasked Magnus with bringing into the tent.

It was a tradition, a custom of royalty, and mortals, that Alec had been taught since a young age. The dye was mixed with a little water, until it was a thick, firm paste, but soft. It was a paint that would harden and mark the skin of whoever bore the runes. The runes – the markings they would draw with a careful finger – spoke the language of the Angels, or at least what was recorded in their books. They were said to give courage, and strength, and sharpened the senses.

Alec didn’t know, truly, in his heart, if he believed in them, but looking into the bowls made him feel peaceful, and so he smiled. “Thank you.”

Magnus smiled back. Although it wasn’t his usual, breezy one, it was enough to relax Alec. “You’re welcome.” The warlock said. He pointed gracefully between the various bowls, his smile curving into a smirk. “Mortal custom,” He said, gesturing lazily to the dye, and then to the unknown ones, filled with strange ingredients that Alec didn’t recognise. “, and warlock custom.”

Alec nodded in understanding. Swallowing back the hesitation, he asked, “May I see it?" He decided to take a guess. "Your...ritual?" 

He regretted the question instantly when Magnus’ smile vanished. He looked completely taken aback. “Oh.” He ran a fingertip around the rim of the smallest bowl. His expression turned to thoughtfulness, his tongue flicking out to swipe across his lower lip. Magnus was still, dangerously so.

Alec wished he would just _say something._ He didn’t like this distance. He wanted to go back to sharing laughter, or kisses atop a valley hill, without a care in the world that they couldn’t easily overcome.

Finally, Magnus rested a hand on the table, and lifted his chin. He met Alec’s gaze, but slowly. “It’s usually a private ritual.” Magnus explained. There was a weak edge to it, as though it was an excuse, a reason to pull away.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean any offence. I just wanted to see.” Alec mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, praying that the moment would resolve itself. When he didn’t, he kept his voice level, and steady, and calmly asked, “Who do you pray to?”

This appeared to be a more acceptable topic of conversation for Magnus. He relaxed visibly, and closed his eyes for a moment, a peaceful smile crossing his features. “To the land itself. To the magic we can feel, and understand, but also to the magic that we don’t: the fates, the gods, old and new. And to the Angels, and even to the devil.” Magnus looked up at him from beneath his lashes, and there was a kindness to the lesson, not a display of arrogance. He was proud, Alec realised, and sharing something dear to him.

“Our ritual is not a prayer, or a question, but a statement: I am here, and I will fight.”

Alec had to glance away to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. How ignorant he felt, all of a sudden the lost, young man again. There was so much more in the world that he ever thought possible. Although it hadn’t been Magnus’ intention, his words once again reminded Alec of the differences between them.

Alec stared down at the coloured dye, waiting to be applied, and suddenly was tempted to cast the small bowls aside. It was only his anxieties speaking. After a pause, and a few slow breathes, he felt calmer again.

Magnus picked up on his reaction, and this time, made the first move. He pressed his palm over Alec’s, the gesture a small, but comforting one. “Do you really wish to see my customs, Alexander?” Magnus asked, his eyes slowly revealing the emotions he had been trying to hide.

For whatever reason, the warlock was just as frightened as Alec had been.

Alec felt Magnus’ eyes reflect back like a mirror; showing Alec how foolish they were being.

Now was not the time for dancing around the edge.

Now was the time for falling in. Embracing with everything, and refusing to let go.

Alec gripped Magnus’ hand tighter, linking them together on top of the table, beside the bowls. Their hands rested by their different customs, one paler, one golden-brown, yet they were the same size, the same temperature. There was a perfect balance, and harmony; light and dark, softness and passion.

“Yes.” Alec replied, without hesitation. “And in return, perhaps…” His eyes flickered down to the larger bowls that Izzy had given them. There were no rules about _who_ could wear the runes. Alec told himself that he wasn't breaking tradition. And if he was, so what?

The warlock’s eyes widened. “You wish to share your ritual with me?”

“Only if you accept- I, I didn’t mean- I don’t know how yours works, obviously, but I…I only wanted you to see…”

“See what?”

“Me." Alec said. He felt the steady pulse in Magnus' wrist and smiled. "This is me, and my world, and this is yours. I don’t want to live in separate ones anymore." He inclined his head, explaining what he meant. "Share yours with me, and I’ll do the same.”

Magnus was quiet, cocking his head and thinking again.

Alec tried again. “Let me repay you. And thank you. For everything you have done.” Alec knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. The words were spilling out, desperate to fill the silence. “Everyone looks to me as their leader, but I look to you, Magnus. I...”

The words were coming out wrong. He hadn’t meant to express his gratitude like this. Yes, he was indeed thankful for the time Magnus had shared with him, but he wasn’t here to say goodbye. Alec was here to create more moments, share more dreams.

Fortunately, Magnus read between the lines, and his surprise faded into a pleasant look. His kind eyes shone amidst the candlelight. He was still touching Alec’s hand, and squeezed again. “You will be a wonderful king, Alexander. You already are a leader. You don’t need me.”

Although he gave a chuckle, Alec frowned. He never wanted to see even the slightest doubt escape from Magnus’ lips. How could he question his own worth like that? When he had given Alec so much, and let him give back in return?

“I will. I’ll always need you. I will always _want_ you.”

As if those words broke through the last of Magnus' walls, the warlock sighed. Acceptance washed over his face. Suddenly, just like that, he was Magnus again. He was charming, and flirtatious, and powerful. He was teasing, and kind. “Well then, who am I to resist you?” Magnus said. The husky quality of his tone washed over Alec in an instant.

_What if I never hear that voice again?_

The reminder that he might die tomorrow suddenly shocked Alec into moving. He straightened his shoulders. “May I?” He ran a gentle finger across the rim of the first bowl, and started to mix in a little water, until it was the right consistency. He gently dabbed a finger inside, and the cool dye smoothed over his thumb. He quickly shrugged out of his shirt. 

Outside, music had begun to play; gentle strums of instruments that might, also, be played for the last time. It drifted into the tent, and into Alec’s bloodstream, and it created the loveliest of fires inside him; gentle, but persistent.

The heat grew to an almost unbearable intensity when Magnus followed Alec's lead and slipped out of his robe, the material unbuttoning down the middle. Halfway as he was discarding it, Magnus paused. He scratched his ear. “Was I wrong to assume…?” He gestured to Alec’s bare top half.

“Oh, no. You were right. _Are_ right.” Alec quickly said, already feeling the burning in his cheeks. “The markings can go anyway, really, but…” He trailed off when he saw Magnus’ lips twitch. It was a dangerous smile; one that didn’t hold back.

“I don’t wish to frighten you, Alec, but there are worse things in this world than to bare yourself to another.” Magnus' voice was quiet, and as he stood there, his robes open to the torso, he was an alluring picture of toned muscle, sharp eyes and messy hair. “If you want me to go-“ His necklaces bounced against his chest when he started to turn.

“No." Alec shook his head. He was keen to move along. "Let me do this for you. I want to show you that what I meant is true. I want to fight for a future where downworlders and mortals can share customs and live peacefully. I want that for you.”

“I believe you.” Magnus promised. He began to remove the final buttons, stripping off his robe completely. “I always have. We fight for the same future, remember?”

Magnus placed his robe down on the table, now dressed only in a thin pair of trousers that were the colour of midnight blue. Under the low candlelight, his dark skin was beautifully lit, as if the warlock was glowing. Alec ran his eyes over his muscles, his sculpted arms and chest. He inhaled sharply. There was a raw urgency in the space between them. Alec felt it; _hungered_ for it, for Magnus. 

“Whenever you are ready.” Magnus coaxed quietly, taking a step closer but leaving a small gap for Alec to close. Which he did.

Alec crossed over to the middle of the tent, his fingers tightly clutching the small bowl for strength. Nervous energy bubbled inside him like a flame. The crackling energy around the room spun into his mind. He was dizzy, imbalanced, and longing to cease the aching inside his chest. 

Only one person could make it go away. Only one person could arouse it until it ignited Alec's entire body. 

As the prince dipped his forefinger into the water again, and then the powder, he focused on the steady, thrum of his heart. It matched the building rhythm of the music from outside. The rune paint was slightly damp. Alec smoothed it, slowly, across his skin. He had chosen the black dye first, and it glistened like spilled ink.

“Do you want me to stand?”

“Y-yes.” Alec murmured. The point of the ritual was, not how it was applied – sitting, standing, kneeling – but by who. And the significance of each touch.

Alec knew that touching Magnus like this, intimately, was a personal offering. Magnus _allowing_ him to touch him, was also one.

Alec closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started. Using the gentle music from outside as a guide, Alec slowly traced over Magnus’ shoulders, skimming over the collar bone and carefully avoiding the throbbing vein in his neck. In a series of careful strokes, he drew various runes across Magnus' upper body, lingering in the moments between sighs and smiles.

The warlock swallowed, and Alec felt himself flush as the movement rolled over his fingertip. Magnus was so alive, and Alec felt every breath beneath his touch. He only stepped back to change bowls, now coating his fingers in the charcoal-gray dye. He took another breath, trying to steady his racing heart. Thinking it was under control, Alec dared to glance up at Magnus.

He was wrong. All of his control had now completely disappeared.

Because somewhere between the touches, and the runes, Magnus’ eyes had abandoned their glamour; their true amber-gold now burning like a thousand threads of sunlight. There was a craving emotion in their orange flecks, slipping out of his grips. He radiated power, but pleasure too. Alec not only sensed it, felt it, but he heard it. It was like a thrum of music, only this time, it was in the air itself. It was Magnus' aura, strong and slipping out like a stolen kiss. 

Alec froze, his thumb halfway through finishing the rune of precision. 

What had Magnus said before about glamours? They disappeared unless the caster was in full control of his or her emotions. They slipped and faltered under stress, attraction or strong forms of emotion. What was Magnus feeling?

“Are you alright?” Alec asked, his voice a whisper. But it cut through the air like a sharp burst of wind, or a revelation. 

The music from outside was growing louder, its song a war cry like no other: hopeful, fierce, promising. 

“Far from it. But I’ll live. I always do.”

And there it was again. The hard edge to Magnus’ voice. It was covering up something, but it was more than the obvious fear. This was something that Alec knew he had to focus on, and understand. He would help Magnus overcome it.

“What unsettles you?” Alec asked. He stood back, still holding the bowl in both of his hands. He glanced over his work. Magnus’ chest and arms, and the lower parts of his neck were now covered in dark runes of stormy gray and ebony black. They were neat, and Alec was pleased his shaking hands had not made too much of a mess on the warlock’s beautiful skin.

The warlock was adorned in the Angel’s language, and really, Alec couldn’t see a more perfect match. Someone with magic and fire in their blood, but goodness in their heart. Power in their fingers, and grace and kindness in their soul. If anyone could be named as a divine creature, it would be Magnus Bane.

“I’m fine, Alexander.” Magnus smiled, shaking Alec’s thoughts back into the present moment, but it was a tight smile. Alec could feel his exhaustion, but it wasn't physical. He was still holding something back, and it startled Alec to think that Magnus was _scared_ to tell the truth.

For so long now, they had been side by side. The quest had created an unbreakable bond between them, from friendship to more, and Alec wondered if his heart might shatter under the nightmare of losing him.

“Okay,” Alec said, slowly. Deciding that they had time, and that pushing Magnus into speaking was inconsiderate, he held the bowl out to Magnus. “Your turn.” Alec said calmly, although he was suddenly feeling a lot more bare and vulnerable as he realised what he was about to endure.

The thought of Magnus’ fingers dancing over his chest left him breathless. Excited. _Aroused_.

Alec was glad when Magnus took the bowl as it gave him a moment to prepare.

A moment was not enough. An entire lifetime would not have prepared him for the light pressure of Magnus’ hands on him. The warlock concentrated, gazing down at his own chest for images to copy.

Which simply gave Alec time to study him without the fear of being caught. He watched as Magnus bit his lip, determined to do the runes justice. He was so considerate; so kind in his desires to do the mortal custom justice. He knew it was important to Alec, and was focused in a way that made him once again forget to glamour his eyes.

But Alec was pleased. He had never seen a sight more beautiful than Magnus Bane. Not the glamoured, cautious Magnus, but this one; a powerful yet gentle warlock who had great power and yet, hesitated to paint a young man’s body. A man who had shown Alec the pathway to himself.

Meliorn’s words from long ago echoed through Alec. Back on a faerie bridge, at the start of their adventure; _the one who awakens you._

Magnus had awoken the prince in countless ways. He had awoken emotions that Alec never knew he carried. He had challenged everything he’d been taught, and showed him the power of mercy and kindness. He had stood by Alec’s side and encouraged him, urging him to become the king Alec had always hoped, but never quite believed, himself to be.

“Alexander?”

“Hm?”

“I have run out.” Magnus said quietly, holding out the now-empty bowl.

Alec took it and quickly placed it on the side. When he turned back, he stepped a little too quickly, and his chest brushed up against Magnus’. His breath caught, and Magnus took a hasty step back.

Before he had time to apologise, Magnus had turned to the table and began collecting his own items; the small bottles from before, and the large, bronze bowl. His painted skin was still glistening, and Alec couldn't help but stare. It wasn't a sudden passion being rekindled. As he gazed, following the muscles of Magnus' back, it was a slow-building hunger that tormented the prince. 

“Do you need my help?” Alec asked. He winced. “Of course you don’t. I don’t know what these are even for.” He gave an awkward laugh, gesturing with his hand to the little glasses and crushed flowers and herbs.

Magnus brushed away his embarrassment with a smile, already snapping his fingers together and using a tiny wooden instrument to crush up one of the items. “It is sweet of you to ask, but it’s rather complicated. It takes years to master. Maybe one day I can teach you.” His words trailed off, and Alec filled in the gaps; _if we survive, if we live, if we make it to that day._

After another minute of mixing, stirring, crushing, and occasionally muttering a curse that made Alec hide a sheepish grin, Magnus snapped his fingers and a spark leaped into one of the bowls, a small, hand-held light oak one.

Something hissed quietly, and then soft wisps of smoke began to steam up from the bowl.

Magnus waited until there were a steady stream of tendrils lifting into the air. He then looked back to Alec. “You can sit, dearest.” Magnus’ smile had a hint of playfulness. “Or if you’d prefer to stand, that’s not a problem. I’ll take you any way.” The smoke quickly drew his attention back again. “But you mustn’t move when I have begun. Please.” Magnus quickly added with a small smile. “Bugger, I really do forget that you’re royalty sometimes.”

“Good.” Alec rushed out. Although it was intended as a joke, the tease hit a nerve.

For tonight, he didn’t want them to be anything else other than Alec, and Magnus. “I never want you to look at me and think of a crown.” Alec quietly, but firmly, told him. He took a step forwards, the heat of the smoke making him gasp a little. “I never want you to hold back because of my title. Magnus, you are my equal. You are any mortal’s equal. You are likely worth a hundred mortals-“

When Magnus held up a finger to his lips, Alec noticed that they shook slightly, and the warlock’s eyes were glistening. “We do not have much time until the smoke fades.” He softly said, an apology in his voice.

Alec nodded obediently. He leaned back on the end of the bed, sitting down and giving Magnus the space of the tent. Not quite knowing what to expect, the prince resigned himself to waiting patiently, settling on the furs.

As soon as Magnus started to move, Alec was immediately transfixed. He realised what it was: a dance.

Sweat glistened down Magnus’ back as he carefully guided the bowl, and the smoke, through a series of movements and dances. He held it in one hand, twisting it up towards the sky, and then bringing it into the other and spinning in slow circles. The smoke encircled him like a second skin, and Alec felt the usual tingle of magic growing stronger. With each movement, Magnus murmured soft words. He slowly kneeled, holding up the bowl in one hand and sweeping the floor in one, smooth gesture with the other. His open palm was suddenly lit by a soft, blue spark, and it left tiny flickers along the carpet.

All this time, Magnus’ eyes had been closed; his movements driven by memory and concentration. His lips were a deep red under the low candlelight, and the smoke billowed around him. Even from a short distance away, Alec felt the heat and smoke draw him in like a blanket; drawing him closer to the warlock.

He caught glimpses of the spoken words, the languages were a blur of old and new tongue, but Alec knew Fae and did his best to translate;

_“We call to the lands above and below; the skies and the ground; the sun and the moon. Grant us your blessing and watch over us as you best see fit.”_

Softly, Magnus smiled, and spoke in an unknown tongue. It sounded gentle, like the feather-light touch of a hand upon a cheek. It touched Alec; the tenderness, and his heart warmed once more.

When Magnus stood once again, he placed a hand over his heart and paused. His chest heaved.

Alec found himself leaning forwards, helplessly pulled towards the sudden sensation of falling. It was like hovering over the edge of a clifftop; waiting to be set free; waiting to sail down and hit the bottom. But the fall never came.

And then Magnus opened his eyes and the fall arrived.

If he was under a spell, Alec knew with certainty that he would gladly submit to it. He would bow to Magnus’ mercy. He already _had_.

Ever since he had met Magnus as a child, Alec wondered if he would see him again. How little he had known then. How could he have known that the warlock he met so briefly in the library would grow into his greatest love? The only love that Alec would give his whole heart to?

And it was the only love that had the power to destroy everything he had ever fought for, but also the power to rebuild it; stronger than ever.

“Tell me what those words said.”

Alec was startled by the yearning in his request, the _desperation_ , and the desire to share everything. Magnus had said that baring yourself was rewarding, and by the Angel, did Alec want it, desire it more than anything.

Without meaning to, he had stepped away from the bed and stepped into the still-swirling remains of the smoke. 

Magnus’ hands were empty now, the bowl placed on the small table. He stood before Alec and asked, “Are you certain you want to hear them?” He checked with a careful look. His chest rose and fell visibly, his voice slightly breathless still. “There will be no way to erase them from your mind, or your heart.”

“I know.” Alec said simply. “Tell me.”

Magnus licked his lips. “First, tell me this." His gaze lowered to Alec's new runes, and then back up to his face. "What did they _feel_ like?”

It only took Alec a second to respond. “Home.” He whispered. “And...they felt as if my heart was being coloured with fire. Your magic.”

He wanted so desperately to touch Magnus, but he was frozen in place; unable to move even an inch. Every embrace, every kiss they had shared seemed to fade away. They were all important moments, and memories, but this was different. Alec felt the magnitude of it, in his heart, his chest, his mind, and in the deepest parts of his being.

“The words are up to each caster.” Magnus finally explained. His smile was soft, adoring even. “We choose the words.”

“What did you say? Magnus, tell me. What did you ask for? The battle to be won?”

A flash of pain crossed Magnus' features then, and Alec felt guilty for reminding him. “No." The warlock said, sadly. "You can't wish or pray to change the outcome of a battle. You cannot ask the fates to change their plans, and you cannot ask them to grant victory or slaughter.” Anger tinted his words then, but when he sighed, it seemed to leave his body. For good. 

Alec didn't shy away from the truth. “What did you ask for?” He repeated. 

This time, Magnus only hesitated for a heartbeat. The candlelight turned his eyes into stars, and Alec was leaning in, almost touching him. Magnus looked, without any reservation at all, straight into the prince’s eyes and said, “ _An huha aghhas furuhara._ ” Magnus whispered. His stare was unflinching. “The one I love to live.”

“You said you cannot wish for life.” Alec murmured. He could feel the dye drying, leaving his skin marked, forever.

It wasn't the only thing changing Alec's life in this night. 

The short, quiet laugh that came from Magnus then was surrendering. “No, but I was foolish enough to try.” He murmured.

Alec reached out. Not with a touch, but with a question. One, simple question. 

“Who is the one you love?”

Tenderness warmed Magnus' eyes as he stared up. He didn't move, but his chest caught, mid-breath. Magnus' next words felt pained. “I know you are not a fool, Alexander. Do not make a sport of my heart.”

Alec realised then that it wasn't anger. Or pain. It was _yearning_. 

Gulping down a few breathes for courage, Alec finally reached out with his hands. He lifted a hand, slowly, and placed it over Magnus' heart. When he felt the strong, overwhelming realness of his heartbeat, he met Magnus' wide eyes and grinned. Happiness spilled out of him, like the lingering smoke filling the space. "Your heart is strong, Magnus." Alec said. He pressed even closer, and leaned forwards. His forehead rested against Magnus' temple. “Promise me it will beat for years and years.”

He felt the warlock stiffen, but he didn't pull away. Without opening his eyes, Magnus begun to tremble. “It will break if you leave me.” He whispered. 

Alec’s breath caught. The distress, the pain, he was feeling, mirrored Magnus', but he couldn't help but ask, “Are you…asking me to surrender to Valentine’s army?” The thought was unnerving. Surely the warlock had more faith in him, in _them_. Was he so afraid as to consider such a path?

But wouldn’t Alec, if it meant that Magnus would live?

Thinking about it that way, Alec was unsure, unsteady, and completely at loss for words.

It calmed him when Magnus shook his head, a few strands of hair falling against the side of his face. “No.” Magnus assured him. “I would never ask that of you. This is my fight, and yours. We are fighting for freedom.”

Alec smiled. And _this_ was why he loved Magnus. They understood each other, always.

This time, he asked in a gentler way, “Then what _are_ you asking?” He still had his palm against Magnus' chest, and the slight touch was burning into his skin. 

“To be careful, please. If anything happens to you…” Magnus trailed off.

“You are asking a great deal.”

“To live? Is that such an unbearable thought to you?" Pain once again crossed Magnus' features. His beautiful eyes were haunted then, wounded even. "To live…and to love?" He asked, sadly, "Is it unbearable for you to love me, Alexander?”

Perhaps it was that moment. Perhaps it was another. Whichever one it was, Alec knew that the confession he was about to give needed to be special. He knew it needed to save Magnus' hopeful heart. 

Alec withdrew his palm, and then raised the other. He gently cupped either side of Magnus' face and smiled. “Magnus, choosing to love you has been my heart’s greatest joy. It is the only choice I have ever truly made, and I wish I could have the rest of my life to prove that to you.”

Caught between a smile and a flinch, Magnus said, imploringly, “Then do it. Live, Alexander. Live, and show me.”

“A king must lead his people. I will be at the front tomorrow. With or without you, I will be the first to step onto the battlefield.”

Magnus flinched.

Against his will, Alec grew angry then. He knew it was a self-directed anger, an inward sort of fury that he could not take on a thousand demons in exchange for his friends and family’s lives. “I'm not weak, you know." Alec muttered, stubbornly. "I know I'm only mortal, but I'm strong and I can fight. I may not have magic but-“

“Alec, please. I'm not saying that. I know you are a gifted warrior, I have seen you fight and I have seen your strength.”

“Then why are you asking me to cower?”

“I’m not, I…” Magnus broke off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had never looked so out of control. Alec realised that he had no arguments left, as he turned back with a surrendering sigh. The true source of Magnus' concern finally spilled out. “Because I have seen too many loved ones die." He said, sadly. "And I cannot bear to lose another. Not you.”

Alec's hands slid down, over and down the sides of Magnus' neck. He did so softly, stroking his forefingers against the feverish skin. “Then fight beside me. Magnus, tomorrow…we can defeat Valentine together." He begged. "I believe in us. We are stronger together than apart, you have shown me this time and time again. United, we are unstoppable.”

A smile, finally, returned to Magnus' face. He tilted his head, pressing into Alec's hands. “Against demons and whatever dark evils Valentine has awaiting us?”

“Yes.” Alec promised, fiercely. “Love is stronger, and more powerful than Valentine’s hatred. It has to be. I didn’t cross the entire land to find out that was a lie.” He finished with a sigh.

He had been too busy sighing, and almost didn’t catch the soft, surprised sound that escaped from Magnus’ lips. When he turned back to look at him, there was a single tear halfway down the warlock’s cheek. The vulnerability in his expression turned Alec’s frustration into devotion. He was filling to the brim with it. 

All the other words had been spoken. 

There was room now, and only for, love. 

“Say it again. Please, Alexander...”

He didn’t need clarification. He knew now what Magnus wanted, why he was looking at Alec as if he’d offered up his heart, which he had, and would, over and over again.

Alec leaned his forehead against Magnus’. His fist unfurled as he slowly spread his open palm across Magnus’ chest; touching where his heart continued to beat. And then he smiled. “Magnus Bane, you are the one I love most. You will _not_ lose me, and I will not lose you. I know you have suffered enough for infinite lifetimes, and I do not desire to be another scar. I swear."

“How can this be?”

Magnus' eyes were half-open, the amber cat slits seeming to pulse with soft joy. 

“What?” Alec gently asked.

“How can it be that you have fallen in love with me?”

Alec felt a content chuckle fall from his lips. As he cradled Magnus in his hands, he finally understood the power in a word. “An impossible question to answer." Alec grinned. "Almost as impossible as you."

When Magnus began to smile, the beauty of it liberated Alec completely. "You are a mystery to me, and a safe place to dock after a stormy day at sea." Alec told him. "I have travelled with you and seen wonders; settlements, creatures, magic beyond explanation. And yet they are nothing compared to you. To your beauty and your smiles and your kindness. To the flicks of your wrists, and the pain you keep hidden and locked away inside. _That_ is why I love you." He didn't stop, _couldn't_ stop. "That is why I will love you. You are the bravest man I know to show me even a small part of your heart. However much you let me see, bit by bit, I will hold it as carefully as I can. I will keep it safe. I will keep you safe, I promise. I love you. I _love_ you, Magnus. Magnus, I love-“

“Me.” Magnus finished. Tears streamed down his eyes, and when he laughed, the sound was breathless, hopeful, and dazed. He was youthful in his joy, yet strong in his confidence. “You love me.” His hand came up around the back of Alec’s neck, gently stroking the strands of hair along the nape. “I will never question it again, forgive me.”

Alec shook his head in understanding. “I do not make it easy to be loved.” Alec admitted, as Magnus continued to stroke his hair in gentle strokes. “But I will try to make my affections as open as I can. You deserve that.”

“Alec, I told you many nights ago. I do not wish you to change. Even the frustrating parts, for they are rewarding and sweet, and everything that you are. You invited me to stop glamouring my eyes because I was hiding my true self. Do not do the same.”

Magnus suddenly stopped. His hand fell away, and hovered in the air. He took a step back, picked up the now-empty bowl and stood apart from the prince. “You need to rest. And other people might wish to speak to you-“

Alec shook his head. “No one is allowed. I asked Jace earlier to make sure of it.”

Besides, why would he want anyone else but Magnus, on a night like tonight?

Magnus swallowed, glancing at his discarded robe. “Then I should go. And you should rest.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your good name the night before-“

“What?” Alec interrupted. Anger tinged his vision. Was Magnus still thinking he was ashamed of him? This had to end. “Magnus.” He addressed, loudly.

“Shh.” Magnus hissed. His eyes flickered anxiously to the outside. The music was louder now, and it matched the racing rhythm of Alec’s heart; pumping furiously with desire and frustration.

“Enough.” Alec said firmly.

He crossed the room, carelessly knocked the bowl out of Magnus’ hands and cupped two hands around his neck. His lips found his, and the world turned to colour.

He kissed him like he was whispering an apology and an invitation. All the moments in his life seemed to wrap around the tent, anchoring them in the isolated space. It was private and theirs alone. They kissed, arms woven around necks, and bare chests pressing together; pale skin, golden skin, and dyed skin. 

“Alec…” Magnus whispered, as he broke away. His chest heaved, drawing Alec’s attention down to the muscles in his chest, and the painted runes still adorning his honey skin. He was a beautiful canvas, and Alec had been allowed to hold him, to touch him.

Alec lingered there, his hands still cupping Magnus’ face, and he inhaled sharply, the smell of fruit, salt and something like lavender lingering in the air.

It was an overwhelming moment. Alec didn’t shy away from it. He opened his eyes. “I want to be with you. Tonight. For the rest of my nights as well, but…tonight. More than anything. I want you to stay with me, and share this night.” He desperately tried not to beg, or look forlorn, but when Magnus hesitated, Alec tugged him closer, so that the space between them evaporated completely. His leg was between Magnus’, and the hands around the warlock’s waist dug in sharply, desperately. He leaned forwards, so that he was whispering almost into Magnus’ lips. “ _Stay_. Stay,” He kissed the warlock’s cheek. “Let me hold you,” He kissed his nose, the skin warm and feverish. “, and lift your burdens.” He kissed his jaw, his tongue flicking out to taste the trembling man beneath him. “Give me tonight, and I promise, I will make it last for eternity.”

Magnus suddenly gripped the back of his neck, tugging his head down. He gasped into Alec’s mouth, but still didn’t kiss him again. “All I want is to be with you, Alexander. I feel like I have lived this long just for this moment.”

Moving quickly, Magnus plucked at the strings below Alec’s waist, the material falling from Alec’s hips. When his pants brushed his ankles, Alec lifted his feet, kicking of the trousers. He was left bare, completely: naked and alone with the man who had always seen him. It did not frighten Alec. His smile was wide and genuine as he mirrored the movement, gently pulling the soft cord below Magnus’ torso. 

Locking eyes with the warlock, Alec untied the knot, slowly. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_." Magnus breathed out.

Alec let go, and as soon as Magnus had kicked his final garment aside, he surged forwards and kissed him once more. Their teeth clashed together slightly, the jarring movement springing from a sudden desire to touch, to be near, and to take the night and make it last forever.

He was flushed and burning hot with urgent desire. Moans slipped from his lips. He let them. Hands tangled themselves into hairs. Alec let them.

Alec clung to Magnus, the pair still standing. There wasn’t an inch of their bodies that didn’t press firmly together. It was a tapestry of woven passion and love: burning reds and cooler lilacs. The music swelled in the background, slowly rising to a louder piece, and Alec let it cast a spell onto his worries, washing them away. He listened to the lull of the music, and the gasps and sounds building within the tent, and let it guide him; let Magnus guide him.

The warlock was patient and demanding at the same time. His hands spread delicately over Alec’s back, reaching up over his shoulders and brushing his spine with care, but the fierce demands of his kisses were obvious. Magnus yearned for this, just as much as Alec, and was fighting for it, as well as enjoying it.

Suddenly, Alec was stumbling backwards. He shuffled his feet until they hit the back of the bed. The edge was close, and as he fell down, laying on the cool sheets, Magnus followed willingly, and found a comfortable position in Alec’s lap.

When the kisses sent Alec’s blood into a frenzy of fire, he could bear it no longer. His right hand reached down, and when he grazed the warlock’s length, Magnus arched, and with a deep groan, whispered into Alec’s ear, “Slow. _Please_.” He moaned, as Alec’s strokes softened, his fingers aching against the urge to make the warlock groan again. “I want this to last.” Magnus said, softly, and his eyes were sincere.

Alec nodded, for a moment, and then captured Magnus’ lips once more. He understood. Although the threat of the morning seemed suddenly far away, it was still there, and Alec knew that this would always be – no matter how long he lived after tonight – a memory to cherish forever.

Still, Magnus rocked his hips slowly, and with careful precision, and Alec too was struggling to suppress his groans.

After another minute, he refused to stay quiet any longer, and threw his head back. The pillows were there to soften his action, but Alec was no less unaffected. He felt the tension in his body start to build, and when Magnus began to slowly stroke his fingers against him, Alec met his eyes and gasped. The bright golden-amber of Magnus’ real eyes gazed down at him, and there was a moment when there was only those eyes, and Alec’s beating heart.

“Sorry,” Magnus mumbled, so quiet that it was barely a whisper. He was almost hesitant in that moment, and yet, the power in those eyes lit Alec’s chest with an unyielding flame.

Alec laughed, and the sound only added to the tenderness of their bodies rocking together. He smiled warmly, and kissed Magnus slowly this time. “This is who you are.” He whispered. “I love you.” He stroked around the edges of the warlock’s eyes, soothing away the tense lines. “No hiding, remember?” He said, gently.

This seemed to calm Magnus. He grinned, his confidence back again as he rolled his hips down, a dangerously focused look in his eyes. “Are you certain you can handle this?” He murmured. He ran a finger down Alec’s forearm, and a trail of blue magic danced across his skin.

Alec groaned, the sensation like tickling and gripping all at once. He grinned still, unafraid to fight back. “I can.” He promised. “Can you?” He challenged, and sucked on the pulse point right under Magnus’ ear. He trembled, and Alec counted it as a victory.

It was no longer a victory when Magnus pushed Alec away with a hand, and then placed the prince’s arms above his head, and into the bed. He held them there, pinning Alec beneath him as he surveyed him with a deliciously hungry look.

Magnus purred, “You look delectable, Your Highness. I want to eat you whole.” He said, and as he leaned down, slowly, he stroked his fingertips down Alec’s pinned arms, from the delicate wrists to the strong elbows. “Do you remember me doing this?" Magnus said, arousal in his voice. "On the night of the Seelie Court dance.”

Alec nodded. “Y-yes.” How could he ever forget that dance?

When he reached Alec’s elbows, Magnus was firmly leaning against him, and he kissed him, releasing his grip only to dig his hands into the backs of Alec’s thighs. He shifted them so that Alec’s legs parted, and Magnus lowered himself. He slipped between them, ducking down and gazing up at the prince as he made a small trail of kisses along his legs, occasionally pausing to nuzzle into him. He was smiling, and it took all of Alec’s patience not to urge him onwards, to hurry. Instead, Alec watched with a smile on his face, his breathes coming out short and jittery.

It was difficult not to gasp when Magnus gazed up at him, deliberately flashing his cat eyes this time, and Alec simply smiled, well aware that his desire was already on full display. There was no use hiding it, and no need to. Magnus was just as needy.

The warlock held him in place as he teased him into tipping over the edge, first with his hand, and then with his tongue, and soft mouth. He was gentle, but firm, kissing and sucking with equal attention to Alec’s thighs. His fingers stroked, and after minutes of fighting it, Alec let his body tremble and tip into a place caught between pleasure and pain, heaven and hell.

He couldn’t remember a time before now, and he was lost to a future that strayed outside of the tent. There was only this. Only him, and Magnus.

As Magnus crawled up onto his chest again, Alec took the few moments to swallow down some much-needed air. When he was ready, he kissed his gratitude into Magnus’ lips, nibbling along the bottom lip until it was now Magnus’ turn to tremble.

Taking this as a good sign, the prince nudged Magnus to the side, and turned them both over. Alec climbed into the warlock’s lap. As soon as Magnus was lying beneath him, and Alec’s legs were on either side of his hips, the warlock grinned. His hair was stuck to his forehead, and his lips were swollen and damp, but he had never looked more alive, more desirable. Alec’s chest ached again, his body already recovering enough to build with anticipation again.

“Whatever will you do with me now, hm?” Magnus teased.

“Everything.” Alec vowed, and he did.

There was not a single place left unmarked, and unkissed, on Magnus’ body that night. Alec left a trail of them down his spine, welcoming, with pleasant delight, the shivers and trembles that came from the warlock. He warmed the insides of Magnus’ thighs with hard, bruising kisses. He let himself embrace all of his courage, mustering it up until there was only one thing left to do.

_Love_.

“I love you.” Alec whispered into the sensitive spot behind Magnus’ left ear, as he took the lobe between his teeth and tugged, electing a groan from the man beneath him. Magnus was lying face-down, resting both elbows on the pillows, and his back was arching, showing off the rippling of his muscles, the elegant way he stretched, preened, and craved more.

Magnus reached around with an arm, and dragged Alec up to meet his lips. It was by no means a soft kiss, but Alec felt its passion, its heat, licking flames against his chest. He claimed another kiss, and then another, all the while rocking his hips, slowly, joining with Magnus as if they had all the time in the world.

The night wound itself around the tent, around the pair of entangled lovers, but Magnus and Alec gave it no attention.

Between rests, they would realign the silks, collect the pillows that had fallen to the floor – no doubt occurring when Alec had been fumbling for something, anything to grab onto, when Magnus was paying particularly close attention to his hardened nipples. They drank water from the goblets, and shared a little food when necessary, but they never left the solitude, the _home_ , of the tent.

And it was just that; a home. Somewhere to share love, and keep it encased in the smallest of ways. Somewhere to protect it and treasure it.

Alec lost count of the many times he had padded, barefoot and clothed only in one of the sheets, towards the small table, only to reconsider, and find himself back in Magnus’ arms before the minute was up.

Eventually, passion became lazy comfort, and slow kisses. The candles begun to burn out, one by one. The smoke was faded completely, but the scent of lavender and spice remained, filling the space.

As he reluctantly felt sleep fast approaching, Alec turned to face Magnus, whose eyelids were also half-open, a lazy grin covering his handsome face.

Without a word, Alec pressed a soft kiss against the warlock’s forehead, lingering for as long as possible. Their hands were linked firmly beneath the silks. “I love you.” Alec said, and it was the easiest statement he’d ever made. He had never been surer of anything. “I will live, and you will live, and we will love each other until darkness shrouds the world in shadow. Do you hear me?” He asked, softly. “You have saved me, countless time. You’ve loved me, and taught me how to love myself. We will make it. I promise.”

Although the yearning trembles and shudders were long past, Magnus swallowed. His cheeks were flushed, the glow healthy, and beautiful, and Alec was still craving to touch him.

Just as he began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep, Magnus glanced up, looking up at him with a soft smile. “And you, Alexander, brought me back to life. I was lost before I met you. Perhaps I might have loved again, or found a way to enjoy life again, but…it wouldn’t be like this.” Magnus tilted his chin up, causing his nose to brush a feather-light touch against Alec’s. Magnus relaxed, smiling. “With you, I am strong, and loved. I will not lose you tomorrow. A love like ours? Impossible to destroy with swords.” He re-positioned their hands, so that they were resting against the slight space between them, on the pillows. Magnus gazed down at them, smiling. He then kissed the back of Alec’s hand, and the sweet moment sent Alec tumbling down, his heart _falling, falling_ , landing; with a soft embrace in Magnus’ arms.

Magnus’ face shone with certainty, and love. “We were not made to say goodbye.” He promised, the power in his voice making Alec ache with desire.

Before the weariness overwhelmed them both, Alec spoke, quietly, “I promise to watch over you, when I’m gone.” He didn’t linger on the thoughts, but felt, despite the sad longing, a desire to comfort Magnus, even when he couldn’t entirely relate. Still, he could try. “I won’t be the moon, Magnus, but I will find a way to protect you, even when I’m not here anymore. Perhaps I can live inside your heart.” He murmured, tracing a fingertip over the hardened rune across Magnus’ chest. “I’ll keep it safe.”

The warlock shook his head, softly. “Shh, my love,” Magnus raised a forefinger to Alec’s lips, and then let it drag, until he was lifting the prince’s chin, tipping it towards his own lips. “We have a long way to go until then.” This promise was a gentle reminder, and as he kissed Alec slowly, and briefly, it was a sweet, goodnight kiss; one that Alec wanted to experience over and over again, in a thousand different mornings. And he would. He was sure of that.

This was the beginning of their love story, of their lives together.

“Dream of me.” Magnus whispered, his eyes glistening.

“I always do.”

“And I, you, Alexander.” Magnus confessed. “Goodnight. Tomorrow births a new day, and we must be ready for it.” He snuggled closer, and Alec couldn’t fight back the grin. He was in bed with a high warlock, and one who enjoyed cuddling.  

“I love you.” Alec said, quickly, before his eyes closed completely.

The last thing he saw was Magnus smiling, and the delicious smell of smoky lavender, and coloured paint, danced its way into the prince’s peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! <3 <3  
> Okay, but this chapter took a lot out of me, but i'm incredibly proud of the end result. From the saphael kiss, to malec spending the night together, I hope the emotions came across well, as well as the sexytimes.  
> Let me know your thoughts! :)  
> Do come and find me, on tumblr - 'clockworkswans' or twitter @clockworkswan99 - I love to chat, and flail over the show and so much more :)  
> Fic playlist is also here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7QIYXGL8m8&index=44&list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc


	18. The Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! :)  
> I hope you've survived (somehow) season 2 so far, what a wild ride it's been! The malec date, ahhh <3  
> This chapter is part 1 of the 'final battle sequence' and it got way out of hand, but there's a lot of emotion, and hopefully epic moments, so without further comment, enjoy! ;)  
> Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> Come find/yell at me on twitter @clockworkswan96, or tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Thank you to my lovely wife, Julia, for listening to me discuss and throw ideas by you. May your tea always be warm <3

A long line of makeshift beds had been constructed within the large, now-empty tents. Where there had once held a knight’s quarters, there was now the lingering anticipation of inevitable future occupants: the injured. 

And just as it was with the knights, some of those who entered the tents, would not live to venture outside again.

Raphael entered the large space, sweeping back the tent’s cloth and letting himself quietly in.

Intense silence coiled in the air, so pungent that it was almost suffocating. Raphael swallowed. Never before had a battle loomed over him like this. Swinging a sword had always felt as natural as rising in the morning. But as he made his way through the tent, carefully passing the volunteers from the villages who would be in charge of those wounded in the upcoming battle, Raphael felt his stomach knot painfully.

When he finally caught sight of who he’d come to see, it only grew worse.

Simon was holding a tilting pile of clean, beige cloth. Both arms jutted out in front of him as he tried to balance them all at once. Muttering to himself, the man pushed onto his tiptoes, still oblivious to the waiting knight. Simon was halfway through placing them on the wooden shelf when he caught Raphael’s eye.

“Ah.” Simon said, quietly. He darted around the nearest woman – ignoring her quick glare – and pushed a hand through his hair as he walked over. When he reached Raphael, Simon didn’t say anything else. He simply stared. Gazing up, his eyes seemed a softer shade of brown under the natural light coming in from outside. Raphael refused to look away first, instead memorising every small freckle, every blemish, and all the bruises he’d earned from walking into things.

“Did your lanky form betray you again?” Raphael heard himself ask, pointing to a particularly violet bruise forming on Simon’s wrist. He was pleased that the humour didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

Simon nodded. “Um, yes. I fell out of bed this morning. Again.” The comfortable, sheepish smile that fluttered across his face warmed Raphael’s burdened heart.

The whistling sound of final blades being sharpened rung out from outside the tent. There were raised voices, and quiet murmurs too. Raphael knew that if he didn’t get out of here soon, and return to his duty, and his men, he'd become consumed by the intensity of it all. Most of his knights seemed to forget his age. He was experienced, but not as old as the other lords leading the armies.

Cradled in the crook of his elbow, Raphael felt the cold bite of steel as his helmet dug into his arm. He cleared his throat. “I must lead my men soon. I only wanted to come and say-“

“No.” Simon interrupted, his eyes widening. He’d half-skipped forwards, shifting between his feet anxiously. Tender melancholy clouded his eyes. “Not that, remember? You can't say that.”

Raphael was dismayed to find that his first reaction was to cry. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids. “Fine.” A quiet sigh hissed from his lips, caught between frustration and nerves. He knew he was wrong to direct his anger at the man standing before him.

Simon remained still.

As the seconds grew, Raphael accepted that it was time to leave. He _had_ come to say farewell, but clearly Simon wouldn't accept one. Under any other circumstance, his determination would have impressed Raphael. But not today.

The reason he spoke again was simple. A tear fell from his right eye, and with it, Raphael neglected all reservation, and propriety. He waited until Simon met his gaze, and then held it. He had to steel his nerves and watch this time: had to try and read, and understand, how Simon reacted.

“I lost my mother when I was a boy.” Raphael quietly began.

The hidden parts of his guarded mind screamed out in protest. _Why are you letting him in? Why are you trying to love him in return?_

Daring himself to abandon his fears, Raphael continued. “I...loved her dearly, and wanted to make her proud. She was a remarkable woman, Simon, and I made myself into a worthy knight, for her, and also for myself.” He paused, taking in a gulp of air. The truth had always been something to guard, and here he was, spilling it into the room like a careless drunk. However, he found hope, and strength, in the small smile Simon was offering him. Raphael continued, “For her, I would become a leader, a hero. I would save lives and protect my people.”

A palpable silence hovered then. It birthed something fragile; breakable. 

“Whoa.” Simon said. He treated the moment with care, and judging from the smile, Raphael hoped that he spoke in earnest. Perhaps Simon understood him.

Raphael tried not to back down. He nodded, absently toying with the visor on his helmet as he spoke. “I am saying this because…she was once the only light in my life. Every decision I made, every choice I struggled with, I asked myself to seek out her memory.”

Raphael took a step forwards. It had been a long time since he'd felt bare; without armour of the steely, and spiritual kind. The sensation was odd. Stripping away at his layers was hard work. Removing the hardened humour, and prickly defences, was difficult. He kept his eyes on Simon’s bright eyes and pushed down the rising panic. He could do this. He would try. The depths of his heart were not forbidden anymore.

Liberation was in sight, and he wanted it, gripped at it desperately as he said, “I am saying that she is not the only guiding hope in my life. Not anymore.”

Simon gave a startled step back. With it, Raphael felt his cheeks instantly start to flush. Had he been wrong after all? His distress turned to vulnerable, naked fear.

“M-me?” Simon asked. He cleared his throat, pointing his thumbs towards his chest. “You are talking about me, yes?”

Raphael didn’t fight the small smile. “Yes. I am. Ever the smart one.” He said it without sarcasm, only amusement. _Fond_ amusement. Taken aback by how natural it felt, Raphael allowed his smile to grow, wider and wider.

Simon noticed it, and flashed one back at the astonished knight. His sunny temperament had returned with cheer. Well, as much cheer as one could muster during dark days. “Then I am staying right here, and you are going to make sure your stubborn behind trudges back up the valley.” He said, glaring with a smile that told Raphael he was anything but angered.

Simon folded his hands in front of him, a picture of rare calm. He looked peaceful, as if certain of one thing. “Before the night falls, I’ll see you again.” Simon vowed. He held out a hand, extending it. There was a tremble in his fingers, but his voice was strong and proud.

With a yearning heart, Raphael reached out. With hand and heart, he slipped his fingers between Simon’s palm until they were entwined. They were half raised in the space between them.

And then, Simon confessed to another truth.

“I prayed for you, you know.”

Raphael didn’t hide his look of surprise. He didn’t speak, simply ran a thumb across the back of Simon’s hand as he smiled. For the first time in a long while, Raphael felt fulfilled. He had a battle to join, and men to lead, but the storm ahead was one that he would make it through.

After all, now he had someone to come back to.

“No one has ever done that for me.” Raphael eventually said. “Thank you.”

“I will pray every second until I see your face again. Come back. Be brave, but not too brave.” Simon added hastily. He laughed, ducking his head to hide his sheepish smile. As he did, Raphael could bear it no longer, and lifted his free hand to cup Simon’s face. He shivered as soon as his hand made contact with his soft, warm cheek, and he drunk in the moment and slipped it into his heart. He would recall this a thousand times during the battle.

When he was afraid and trembling, he would think of this; of Simon’s vulnerable smile and surprisingly strong hands. He would think of a boy who had every right to frown, but lit up the world with hope and love.

“You have an army to lead.” Simon reminded him gently.

Raphael nodded, but didn’t move away.

“Wait.”

Simon tore off a strip of his sleeve, and his bashful grin was back. “I, um, read that knights are supposed to receive…tokens, for good luck. From maidens. I’m not a maiden!” Simon slapped a hand to his forehead, his cheeks flushing. He shook his head and tried again. “But um, would you wear this for good luck? For me?”

There was only word that consumed Raphael in that moment. He gently took the strip of cloth and tied it firmly around his arm.

He squeezed Simon’s hand and said, “Yes.”

Simon quickly leaned forwards, and in a fumbling, endearing manner, pressed a kiss to Raphael’s cheek. His lips lingered in the crease below his cheekbone. Raphael felt it mark his skin like dye. It seeped in like the first sip of wine: slowly burning before settling in the pit of his stomach. It was a clumsy brush of lips. It was barely a kiss, but it was Raphael’s saving grace. When Simon pulled back, he stayed closer, and Raphael did not step back. He closed his eyes and felt the safe pull of Simon’s spark.

When he opened his eyes, Raphael found that he had courage after all.

“Keep a steady eye on the valley.” Raphael quietly said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to climb back up to be with you.”

~

The morning of a battle often beheld many last minute changes and surprises. Isabelle had prepared for the unexpected, and fought tooth and claw to be the one to handle any issues.

Facing off with not one, but _two_ stubborn warlocks had not been part of Isabelle’s getting ready plan.

“I am his best friend, you know.”

“ _One_ of his best friends.”

“Excuse me, dear Cat, I have known him for far longer than…”

Isabelle groaned and resisted the urge to throw up her hands. It reminded her of the many strops and sulks that Jace had thrown during his younger years; when horse rides became competitions that Izzy always won.

Only now she was witnessing two very pissed and very powerful warlocks bicker. Catarina and Ragnor had arrived just before sunrise, along with the volunteering members of the Guild – including Elias, who smiled in greeting – who had come to fight.

They were positively glowing with anger when Isabelle protested very firmly against Catarina and Ragnor interrupting their friend’s, and her brother’s final moments of peace.

Refusing to succumb to their narrowed eyes, Isabelle folded her arms even more tightly across her chest. She levelled them with her best stare. “I have already told you: no one is allowed into His Highness’ test.”

“Really, dear, you are quite impossible. All we want to do is bid our friend farewell before the battle.” Ragnor curled his lip in annoyance. It was the first flicker of genuine anger he had shown. Isabelle warned herself not to crumble under the pressure. Alec was relying on her, and she would not succumb to the scrutinising gazes of Magnus Bane’s closest friends.

She tried again, smiling this time. “They will be out shortly. I promise.”

Ragnor arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How do you know? Are you a fortune teller? Is she?” Ragnor turned to Cat, stabbing a finger at the princess. “Do they have those kind of gifts now?”

Catarina looked bored, but Izzy didn't underestimate her anger. “No, darling. They do, however, endeavour to make a warlock’s life as difficult as possible. Who made you the royal guard?” She asked, but when her eyebrow raised, Isabelle swore she noted a flash of brief amusement, and an impressed look.

“I’m sorry.” Isabelle began again. “I made a promise.” The apology fell flat, but she understood their concerns as well. But her promise to Alec wrapped around her heart, and she continued to block the entrance to the tent. The steel in her eyes was almost as strong and unyielding as the sword strapped to her side. She had dressed carefully for battle earlier that morning: her armour glistening, her hair pinned back, and her lips painted a blood red. It was early morning, and the adrenaline was sparking to life within her. 

Something shifted in Catarina’s expression again, and this time it stayed. Her sharp features softened, the light catching her blue skin and making it vibrant, like a cloudless sky. She was regal in her pose and Isabelle had to admire the woman’s ability to make a silence feel like a victory.

Isabelle liked her immensely.

When Catarina spoke again, Izzy wondered – and hoped – if she returned the sentiment. “Well then," Cat said, breezily. ", would you inform our lazy friend that we have arrived? When he delights us with his presence, of course.”

Izzy inclined her head respectfully, waiting until they had left to release a sigh of relief. She'd almost lost that one. 

A tugging sensation in her chest flared to life.

Even before Clary approached, Isabelle was turning in her direction, smiling and waving a hand. Her hand froze, mid-wave, when she caught sight of the girl. Clary's hair was pulled tightly back, and the armour she wore was a light, muted gold, hugging her lithe figure. Isabelle marvelled at her fierce beauty, raking her eyes from head to toe, and then grinning. 

"Well, well. She finally appears."

Izzy noticed that Clary was now observing her own armour with a hungry look. 

"What? Uh, yeah. Hey."

Isabelle gave the girl another few seconds to refocus, her lips parted absently. She then teased, “Are you ready to be a hero?”

Although Clary's answering smile was warm, there was tension in her eyes. She turned to face the valley below. "I never asked for that." Clary said, softly. She was a sharpened blade, a weapon of determination, but Isabelle took pride in her vulnerability as well. 

She was about to offer her sympathies when Clary's face broke out into a brilliant grin. “I have no qualms with being _your_ hero, however.”

Now it was Isabelle's turn to fumble for words. She waved off the remark, but was secretly pleased, glad that they could still tease one another before the battle. 

It was only when she faced the valley too that Isabelle felt her stomach clench. Bile rose, sticking inside her throat with fear. "Fighting is always the easy part." Isabelle said. She spoke quietly to Clary, so that no one else overheard. "Afterwards is the hardest, but if you have someone you love beside you, it will be bearable. Lives will be lost today. Many. Victory doesn’t come without loss.”

Clary nodded. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in concentration. “I guess a fairy-tale ending is too much to ask for?” Clary remarked.

“Oh, Clary,” Isabelle murmured. Leaning in to gently touch the girl's shoulder, she said, “Fairy tales are bloodier than most stories. The endings only seem happy because the story is soaked in misery. People want to believe that happiness is given to them, but it isn’t. Happiness is won by the fighters. We give other people their endings.”

“And what about us? Do we get to live?”

Isabelle didn’t answer her. She had been prepared for this. Death was always a threat, so often waiting around a hidden corner.

“Well, good.”

Isabelle turned her head, surprised. “Clary?”

The wind blew out a strand of red hair, and it was with a stubborn hand that Clary clipped it back in place. When she turned to face the princess, Clary was smiling, but the firm edge to her voice was hardened; prepared. “I’m not a little girl anymore." Clary said. "This world, your world, is my world too. I’m damn well ready to fight for those who lost someone they loved. I won’t let anyone else suffer because of my fath- Valentine’s madness.”

A flicker of anger twisted into the girl's eyes, and Isabelle felt the force of her strength. It wasn’t just a physical energy. It was in the determined grip, and the steady gaze of Clary’s eyes. She was ready. Isabelle had no doubt about this.

Isabelle sought out Clary's arm, linking hers through it. The armour clinked pleasantly. 

“You have me, and that’s not going to change.”

Gratitude softened Clary's hard look. She gazed down at their interwoven hands and then lifted her chin. “I felt alone for so long. My memory was lost, and then found. My entire world was turned upside down, and then…there you were." Clary's smile turned tender, stealing a little of the breath in Izzy's lungs. "You’ve been the compass to my confused soul, Isabelle Lightwood. If I die today, know that of my last thoughts will be of you.”

“Do you mean when you sat up and almost knocked me out?”

Clary laughed. She was a beautiful contradiction, warm laughter and fierce weapons, and Isabelle was falling in love with every part of her.

“Yes. I guess I am.”

Isabelle gripped her arm tighter, wanting nothing more than to take to a private corner of the world and live there with her forever. “Or do you mean when we danced together at the Seelie Court?" Isabelle asked, dropping her voice to a murmur. "You gripped my waist that night and I thought the Angels had given me one of their own. No, you must be referring to the impatient way you kissed me.”

“Hm. I don’t recall that. Remind me again?”

“With pleasure.”

She grabbed the back of Clary’s neck and tugged her closer, parting her lips with ease. She kissed her once, firmly. It was a meeting of blood boiling from anticipation, and soft joy. Isabelle felt the kiss sealing itself with a firm promise: _you are mine, and this world will not take you from me._

Their lips were still touching when a sudden array of drumbeats sounded.

“What’s that noise?”

Isabelle turned, and gasped.

"That, Clary, is the turning of the tide..."

~

Having spent many mornings waking alone, reclining on the softest of silks within his tower, Magnus found the new morning greeting him with lazy pleasure.

And company.

_Well, hello there._

The intimacy of waking in Alec’s arms was a delight he couldn't express eloquently enough. There was a raw hunger to it, in feeling the strong weight of Alec’s arm thrown carelessly over Magnus’ bare chest. But there was also a softness; in quiet snores and the gentle rise and fall of the prince’s chest. Stability warmed Magnus’ heart. It was a peaceful beginning to what would likely be a hellish day, and Magnus had learned from experience to embrace every small moment.

Early morning light tapped against the tent, turning the scarlet drapes into glistening, rippling waterfalls. Magnus stared as he stirred, not wanting to disrupt the calm.

Ever so slowly, he twisted around until he was on his side, carefully re-positioning Alec’s arm so that it rested over Magnus’ hip instead. Magnus felt the soft heat of the pillow beneath his head and smiled.

The slow awakening of his magic began its usual routine of weaving and humming inside his chest. It often resided there, like a nest, but as he awoke fully, it would spread around his body, reminding him that he had magic in his fingertips, in the tips of his toes, and in the hell-soaked blood consuming his veins. It was a song inside his heart; the only melody that had never faded. People left, and abandoned him, but never the magic.

And then a tiny stream of sunlight caught Alec’s jaw, and Magnus dismissed all other thoughts. There was only the sharp, high cheekbones, and the full lips he had spent absurdly lengthy periods kissing last night.

 _I have you,_ Magnus thought, almost shyly to himself, as though it was a new-born thought. It was a precious thing to cradle and protect. It was something, someone, incredibly dear to him. He had known that he loved Alec for a while. He had hoped that Alec returned the same desire.

After last night, Magnus had no room for doubt anymore.

He was careful to conceal the memories from his mind; keeping them safely locked away for the time being. Reliving them now risked abandoning all rational thought. If he remembered Alec kissing a slow, burning trail down his spine, Magnus feared he might never leave the tent. If he remembered Alec’s trembling hands growing stronger, firmer, but still gentle, as they explored his body, Magnus was certain he would find a way to let the hours turn back on themselves.

He would sacrifice the world to take back the night, and Alec, into his arms.

“When I open my eyes again, you are going to be smiling, not frowning. Okay?”

Magnus blinked in surprise at the gruff voice. Even before the request registered, Magnus was smiling. He waited, unmoving, until Alec opened his eyes, their colourful hazel swirls meeting the warlock’s gaze.

“Hello.”

Magnus felt his ear-splitting smile widen so much that the pillow dented. “Good morning, Alexander.”

“Better.” Alec nodded, lifting a hand to rub sleep from his eyes. “Did you dream?”

“Yes; that I turned someone into stone because they woke us up.”

“Was it Jace?”

“No. I would turn _him_ into a dragon. See how he likes them then.”

Alec chuckled, the low sound like a pleasant hum. “What about me? What would you turn me into?”

“Hm, let’s see.” Magnus leaned in. He began to trace across Alec’s torso, and the new runes marking his strong body. “You would make an excellent statue. A divine one, indeed. But in all honesty, I would not lay a finger on you. There is nothing I would change about you. I think I proved that rather well last night, hm?”

“Yes, you did.” Alec mumbled, smiling despite his blush. He stretched out onto his back, resting his head in his hands. “At least we were not woken by the battle horns." Alec said with a guilty grin. "That would have been a tough one to explain. Why I was late to my own battle.”

“Excuse me, I think you have an excellent excuse.” Magnus pouted, and with a hand, gestured to his naked body beneath the sheets.

“Mm.” Alec hummed in approval. “You are correct.” His intense concentration burned desire throughout Magnus’ body, awakening his magic with an urgent yearn. Shuffling closer, Alec bowed his head to press a soft, chaste kiss against Magnus’ lips. He didn’t part them, or lift a hand. He just pressed his lips against the warlock’s, a slow breath of cool air exhaling from his nose. Magnus felt the warm heat of lips, and the cool air, and shivered in pleasure.

When the prince pulled away, Magnus forced a whine back down his throat. He waited for another minute to pass, and then, reluctantly, asked, “Do you want me to leave quietly? I can call a squire on the way, to dress you…for the battle.”

Alec blanched. It was a small flinch, and he suppressed it nearly fully, but Magnus still caught the visible swallow. As he waited for Alec to answer, Magnus lifted a hand and started to trace over the newly marked skin of the prince’s body. He ran his fingertips gently across the runes, smiling with each new touch. Alec’s chest rose and fell, and the melody of his heartbeat pulsed out, strong and terrifyingly alive. Magnus grew acutely aware of how easily that matter could change today. How a brave heartbeat could shatter in an instant. How a life could crumble so quickly that there was little time to mould the pieces back together.

“I don’t need, or want one. A squire, I mean.” Alec finally answered. He turned onto his side again, and ran a hand through Magnus’ hair. Gently, he pushed back the damp strands that had clung to his forehead in the dewy night. He clasped around the back of Magnus' neck, nails scraping slightly, and smiled. “I only want you.”

“We’ll step outside together?” Magnus asked quietly. He needed the confirmation. 

“Yes. That’s what I want.”

“So do I. We need to acquire clothing first.”

“And armour.”

“That too. Unless I have your permission to grace the land with my naked body?”

“No. Although it might serve as a great distraction.”

Alec actually seemed to be debating this, so Magnus poked him in the arm, and then Alec’s face broke out into a brilliant smile. “Kidding. Do you have armour?”

Magnus waved a hand. “I’m sure I can find something.” He dismissed airily. Truth be told, he was unsure about clothing. He had battle robes. Those were options. But he also did not wish to wear a full coat of armour. He needed movement; freedom to reach into every part of his body without restriction. With the knights, armour focused them, and protected them. Magnus needed something else.

He was still exploring options in his mind when the bed dipped.

Alec was slowly climbing to his feet, granting Magnus an exception view as he stood and stretched. From the broad back and shoulders, to the shifting muscles, and arching spine, Magnus trailed his eyes up and down Alec’s body as he started to dress.

Enjoying himself rather immensely, Magnus leaned back, leisurely resting an arm over the now-bare space where Alec had once been resting. The spot was still warm, and left an indent of curves. However, it was hardly a comparison to the impressive sight that Magnus was now drinking in without shame. He had seen beauty in many forms, but Alec held a beauty that went beyond his alluring eyes and full lips. Magnus could feel a timeless wonder settled into Alec’s skin. Perhaps the Angels had carefully sculpted his muscles themselves, or threaded each thick brow with careful hands.

As Magnus forced himself to throw back the sheets and climb to his feet, he did so slowly, lingering in the slow hunger that was threatening to tempt him once more. How easy it would be to play the selfish downworlder others had dismissed him as. How easy it would be to steal away with Alec and find a safe, private haven somewhere in the land...

“The answer is no.”

Magnus blinked, halfway through shrugging on robes from yesterday. “Hm?”

When Alec turned around – now dressed in a light pair of breeches and a half-tied white undershirt, his lips were curving into a soft smile. “I said, the answer is no. You wouldn’t ask that of me, and I wouldn’t ask it from you either.”

“How did you know?”

Alec's smile turned sad. “The thought crossed my mind. Alright, a couple of times.” He admitted, running a hand through his messy hair.

It relaxed Magnus, the confession. It soothed his guilt. It was human to let the mind wander, and Magnus’ had suggested a path to protect those he loved. Looking back on it, the warlock knew that this was barely a scratch on the surface of sins he could’ve been tempted by.

He was soon enraptured by Alec again as the walked across the tent. He stood before Magnus, and with a careful hand, gripped his chin with a light touch, between his thumb and forefinger. “We’ll have other nights together." Alec murmured. "I can promise you that.”

“Good.” Magnus quickly said, anxious to swallow down the rising fear. It was good to address it before they left. Once they were outside, they were expected to be leaders: fearless and courageous. In each other’s company, they could exhale and admit to the stirring emotions beneath the surface. It could be complicated. It could be wonderful and confusing and real.

“Now, let me at least help you with the armour, hm?” Instead of focusing on the reasons _why_ Alec was wearing it, Magnus' mind narrowed in on the powerful grace of the armour. Approaching the wooden stand, he stared at the beautiful metalwork. He let out a slow, long whistle of approval.

“Was this custom-made? It’s exquisite.”

“Mm? Oh, yeah.”

“Now I see how all the royal treasury gets spent.”

An awkward laugh drifted across the tent. When Magnus turned around, Alec was standing stiffly, his shoulder hunched over. His hands were shoved into the slits in his breeches.

“You deserve it. It’s beautiful.” Magnus said simply. He hadn’t meant to make Alec feel uncomfortable, or ashamed by his wealth. As someone who had an eye for aesthetics, and a taste for the finer things in the land, Magnus had dismissed that Alec might be overwhelmed by it all. “Now, get over here.” He said gently.

Trust washed away the hesitation on Alec’s face. "Alright." He said, as he stepped across the space and waited, keeping his eyes trained on Magnus. Did he think that looking away for even a split second would cause the ground to crack open and the heavens to fall down?

_Perhaps it would._

“So.”

“So.” Magnus repeated, smiling.

Magnus carefully pried the armour pieces away from the tall stand. He circled Alec as he held out one piece at a time, the pair working together, steel and soft smiles passing between them.

The armour was ravishing. It was strong, but light, curving to the shape of Alec’s body with a formal fit. It would grant him movement on the battlefield that not many other knights would have the advantage of. Sharp plates of steel curved over to shape his hips, the tasset piece settling against him like a sharp butterfly. Magnus marvelled at it, and at Alec himself, taking pauses between the dressing to place a kiss against the nape of his neck, or the crook of his elbow.

When Magnus stepped back, drinking in the sight, he let out a hum of approval. “Beautiful. And the armour is decent too.”

“Ha. Thank you for helping. Really. What, uh, what about you? Seriously, are you wearing robes?” Alec grinned, but his pupils were dilated as he gazed at Magnus' red apparel. “I have no idea what warlocks wear into battle but I can’t imagine you’d settle for anything less than grand.”

Magnus enjoyed the way it was spoken like a compliment. 

“Mm. Indeed." He said, lowly. "Why do you think I love _you?_ ”

“ _Magnus_.” Alec exclaimed, almost in a gasp. “I-” He stepped forwards, a small, darting jump closer. It made Magnus smile at his eagerness. The strong, steel armour gave Alec the impression of someone who was straight out of a legend, all high cheekbones, fierce, hazel eyes and an expression caught between focus and fear. But Magnus knew there was a man with a huge heart underneath; a man he loved deeply, and wanted to be beside for as long as possible.

“Yes?”

“I…I don’t know. I think I just wanted to say your name.”

“Oh, and how could we forget?” Magnus turned around, and carefully picked up the nearby scabbard. It was a wood-brown leather, and the Sword's handle stuck out with a graceful curve. Magnus presented it to the prince with a flourished flick of the wrist, holding it up with both hands.

“Your destiny awaits, Alexander.” He bowed slightly, arching an eyebrow playfully. He didn’t want Alec misunderstanding, and was pleased when the prince shook his head, laughing softly. Alec took the sword, tied the belt around his waist, and patted it once, and then again.

“Yours too.” Alec reminded him. “You’re not quitting on me now, are you?” It was his turn to smirk now, an attempt to lighten the mood.

Magnus appreciated it, and grinned back. “Never. Now let’s go-“

Then, there was a commotion happening outside. Amidst the usual before-battle mayhem, Magnus knew that something else was occurring. It was different. There were no fearful cries, or cheers, which only made the sudden drumbeats an unknown addition to the moment.

Seconds later, a small object rolled itself under, and into the tent. It settled inside the space, stopping to a rest by Alec’s foot. The prince bent, and picked up the tiny guest, and when he held it out, Magnus frowned at the ordinary acorn.

“Oh,” Alec noticed the expression on Magnus’ face and grinned, laying the nut on the table. “It’s a secret thing that Isabelle and I created. It means-“ He broke off, a startled look wiping away the fond joy. “We need to go. Now.”

Magnus nodded, already tightening his daggers around his waist belt.

Before he followed, Alec turned around, holding out both hands in enquiry. “How do I look?” Alec asked. “Princely enough?”

Magnus’ answer was swift and honest. “You don’t look like a prince at all. You look like a king, Alexander.”

He reached around, tugging Alec from the waist towards him. When he was close enough, Magnus lifted his chin and closed the gap between them. He kissed Alec with a gentleness that was unlike how he felt. Inside, he was burning up, magic coiled and ready to spring out. But in here, with Alec, with tender hands and hearts, Magnus only wanted to feel soft joy. _Love_.

Magnus swept the cloth aside, parting the fabric and revealing the waiting world. He kept his eyes fixed on the prince and smiled. “Let’s go.”

The outside world beckoned, and Magnus wondered if it was without gentleness.

~

As it turned out, it was like seeing the ships approaching.

It was like witnessing the first drop of water after a drought.

“By the Angel.” Alec whispered, coming to a stop so abruptly that Magnus almost collided into his plated back. Magnus nudged him aside, and then froze himself.

“Oh.” He said faintly.

In the year that had passed by – a year of adventure, conflicted hearts and fights – there were still apparently some surprises still left to bear witness to.

Standing before them, filing up the hill from the direction of the Shadowlands, came the promised Seelie army.

“They came.” Alec murmured, disbelief in his voice. From the corner of his eye, Magnus could also see Isabelle and Clary standing with Robert and Jace, as they rushed over to see the approaching fae-folk. Simon and Raphael were standing side by side, their sleeves brushing as they watched, equally wide-eyed for once. Magnus himself listened as the Seelie’s soft footfall and quiet song filled up the early morning sky. It was a war cry of the heart; rhythmic and grounded, and Magnus was beaming as he caught sight of a familiar fae leading one section of the army.

Meliorn walked over, grace in his step. With a smile that was almost apologetic, he inclined his head. The light, brown, leather-bound gear was a shade lighter than his skin, and the coloured strip of water-blue in his hair was pleasant to the eye.

Magnus arched an eyebrow as they approached. “And here I thought you weren’t coming.”

To the left, someone came rushing over, and Magnus moved to let Luciana through to greet her folk. She was also dressed in similar, light armour, a thick leather that curved from the neck to the hips. The breaches she wore looked to be of a similar material, and Magnus admired the elegant patterns stitched into them.

Luciana came up to them, her rose-tinted skin shimmered in the early light. Her thick hair was pinned back by a strong loop of vine. “You came.” She greeted Meliorn respectfully, placing a fist over her chest as she smiled. “And just in time.”

A curving blade in his hand, Meliorn nodded, his own lips quirking just a fraction. His smile was replaced by a grim, focused line. “We are here. As promised. The delay was…unexpected.”

Magnus read between the silence. “The Queen?” He offered coolly.

Meliorn did not reply, but his silence, and his lack of a lie, spoke volumes. The faeries who had come had clearly made a decision to stand separate. Instead of elaborating, Meliorn chose to gesture back to the army instead. “We come to fight for our land. Our homes.”

“As you should.”

They all turned as another figure joined them.

The king’s armour glistened with a shine so bright that Magnus almost had to look away. Robert stood tall and proud as he approached, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Perhaps it was because Magnus had seen Alec grow and change over their time together that he blanched when the king approached. But Robert didn’t frown, or even spare him a glance. His eyes were trained on Meliorn, slightly narrowed, but surprised parted his lips.

“Thank you for coming.” Robert said, his gratitude brief but sincere. He did not outstretch an arm as Alec had done. Still, if he bore any discomfort, he hid it well. Here was a man focused on doing what was right for his people, and Magnus could at least respect this from a distance. He didn’t have to personally engage himself with liking the man.

As the army took their place atop the hill, Magnus stood back, watching as the final addition drew a steady close to the preparations. It stilled the air, mixing in anticipation with the chilly, morning air.

Robert was silent for a long moment, during which he studied his son with an appraising eye. When he had done so twice, the king finally nodded. “The battle will be over by first snowfall.” Robert said. If it was an attempt at a comforting conversation, it didn’t work.

Alec nodded, swallowing. He gripped the Sword's hilt tightly and the knuckles turned whiter than the swirling clouds above their heads. Sunlight occasionally broke out, but then it was soon replaced by the darker shadows.

Hoping to distract them, Magnus clapped his hands together. His necklaces jingled as he moved. “The beginning of winter.” He mused out loud, shivering in the new wind. “How fitting.” He was tempted to use a little magic to warm his skin, but he wasn’t foolish enough to waste it.

The prince nodded, and when Alec turned towards him, his eyebrows were knitted together; a picture of thoughtfulness and curiosity. “I always found winter the most beautiful. A blank page.”

As Robert was now staring down into the valley, and paying no attention to the conversation, Magnus let himself blink in surprise. He found his lips pulling into a smile. “I like that.” He said to Alec, warmly. “But I _love_ you.”

The casual confession, again, caught Alec by surprise. Although it was freezing, and the sun was barely risen, his face flushed a little. Magnus hoped he’d be able to see that forever.

Magnus was just about to excuse himself to find more appropriate clothing, when a tap on his shoulder appeared, almost like a heaven-sent gift. Although if Magnus believed in anything, it was the hearts and minds of good people. Not the Angels, or demons, but those in-between.

“Hello.” He smiled in greeting as his faerie friend approached again.

There was a swing in Luciana’s step, a glide that he’d watched return over the past weeks. Since she’d lost her love, he worried whether she would ever find happiness again, but here she was, braving the loss every day, and learning to survive, and live; for the two were very different things.

Magnus noticed that Luciana was carrying a bundle in her dainty arms. She extended it towards him, her smile coy. “I have a gift for you. Specially made.”

“Oh…it’s…. _oh_.” He repeated, as the pile was thrust into his arms.

As he carefully examined it, taking in the dull black, tough leather, and the vine patterns, emotion start to constrict his throat. Magnus ran a thumb across the seams, enjoying the firmness of the leather, and appreciating the way the long sleeves reached the wrists. Leaving his hands free during battle allowed Magnus his enjoyment, and freedom, of movement. Seeing the magic allowed his body to extend it with ease. Patterns ran along the arms and chest, with raised material settling against his hips and torso like soft, dragon scales.

After running his hands over it again, Alec cleared his throat, making Magnus realise that he still hadn’t said a word. He looked across at the faerie and smiled, feeling it quiver at the corners. “This is…incredible. You spoil me so, my dear.”

Magnus wouldn't waste time rejecting the gift with humble words. He knew it would be seen as an offence, and he was indeed grateful for Luciana’s gift. Her pleased smile told him he had made the right decision.

She dropped into a playful, little curtsy before leaning in. She pointed out the raised lines along the leather cuffs. “It will bond to your magic.” Luciana informed him. “Amplify it.” She rocked back on her heels again, her eyes suddenly drawn to Magnus’ arm. He looked down, but there was nothing there. Not to him, at least.

Luciana glanced over at Alec, where he was discussing – and it looked heated – something with Jace, and then back up at Magnus. He swore he saw a moment where her expression turned sad. “I see the roses didn’t lie.” Luciana said. Her voice was softer than it was before.

It took Magnus a moment to catch her meaning.

_Oh._

The night of the Seelie Court seemed so far away. As he remembered how the roses had appeared to decorate both his, and Alec’s, arms, Magnus felt it come back in waves of pleasure and excitement. Warmth settled in his stomach.

That is, it did, until Luciana tilted her head to the side. “Order and peace. Destruction or chaos. Which will it be in the end?”

Although she didn’t push him for an answer, Magnus detected the edge of regret in her voice. If faeries couldn’t lie, what did it mean if his friend was sensing concern ahead? Did it hold power at all, or was she, much like he was, simply filled to the brim with possibilities?

Suddenly, Magnus smiled. He accepted them all, without hesitation.

_I choose both. I choose the decay and the withering of time. I choose the flowers that always grow once more, after the rain has stopped and life begins again._

He was about to thank Luciana once again, when a figure stormed into view, her dark hair bouncing as she glared.

Maia’s eyes were stormier than the clouds above. “Are you done?” She demanded, not touching Luciana, but staring hard enough to bruise. “We’re supposed to be joining with your army, and getting ready to attack.” Her lip curled in frustration. “We don’t have much time, you know.”

“Goodness.” Luciana chuckled. She was shorter, and daintier than Maia, but she held her ground. “Werewolves are so foul tempered.” The faerie mused, a tinkle of laughter in her voice. She narrowed her eyes at the girl. “We are not your enemies.” She said, and then grinned at Maia, who was scowling still. “Girls with fire in their eyes should be able to recognise strength in others. I wonder, do you have passion in your blood as well as your eyes?”

To Magnus’ surprise, the girl did not snap.

Maia stilled. She stared in shock at the faerie, who had so easily swept into her space, and was levelling her with a steady gaze.

It was an amusing moment, and Magnus bit his lip to keep from smiling. The girls surveyed each other slowly. Eventually, Maia broke first. She nodded, her lips still tight with frustration. “Whatever. Come soon, then.” She muttered.

Luciana nodded back, pleasure in her smile. She waved a hand in dismissal. “I'll join you, and your pack, in a moment.” She turned towards Magnus and beamed. “I have a friend to bless first.”

As Maia cocked her head, her curiosity betrayed her.

Watching the pair, Magnus had an idea. _They'd make excellent friends_ , he thought. He recalled how Maia found it difficult to trust, and Luciana was also searching.

Magnus saved the idea for matchmaking in his mind for later. They had fought together during their journey here, but Maia had stayed close to Luke, and Luciana had kept to herself as well.

Before Magnus could stop her, Luciana had slipped a small bud into his bundle. “For luck.” She told him, slotting the white rose into the folds of his new gear. It was a nice splash of added colour, and so Magnus left it, appreciating her good fortune.

He scanned his mind, searching for something to give her to return. “And for you,” Magnus began. “, _yh anghreed,_ ” He called her by the nickname again, pleased when she smiled, remembering. “, a promise. I think we understand each other, dear. Loss does not mean hurting forever, and I hope you can be happy one day.” He smiled, vowing, “My door will always be open to you, long after the final battle horn blows. You can find me at Ash Tower, or perhaps…Idris. Ask, and I will be there for you. Blessed be.” He reached out and lifted her hand up, placing a kiss against the back of it.  

Luciana smiled graciously. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, Magnus.” She said, and stepped back, ready to leave. “Blessed be.”

Her words stayed with him for a long moment. While he slipped into the privacy of a nearby tent to change, Magnus thought back on the odd friendships he’d made in recent times. Had it not been for the quest that started all of this, he’d still be alone, in Ash Tower, with an overwhelming pit of loneliness gnawing away at him.

He was glad to have something to fight for, loved ones to battle demons for.

Luciana had been truthful. The gear fit him like a firm, beautiful leather glove. He only took a moment to gaze at his appearance in the elegant mirror, and quickly added some final touches – black powdered eyes, and a handful of black streaks in his hair.

He looked like a piece of the night sky had drifted down to the world below, and landed like a chaotic star. To anyone approaching, he’d be a stealthy blur of pitch black and gleaming eyes: midnight and the rising sun existing in harmony.

After re-tying his weapons belt, Magnus stepped outside again, reunited with the preparing armies. Banners were being raised, and the ground shook under the weight of hundreds and hundreds of men and women ready to fight.

Before he had time to gather up his wits – and head over to find out why Alec and Jace were still exchanging what looked like a verbal war - Magnus was gripped by the elbow and swung around to face two familiar faces.

“Darlings, you made it!” Magnus cried happily, Catarina and Ragnor’s appearances suddenly renewing his spirits. He was about to greet them properly with an embrace, but then he noticed his friends’ scowls.

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against his new gear. “Is there a problem?” He invited. “Something worth addressing before we all, you know,” He gestured around them. “, get attacked by an army of demons?”

Catarina folded her arms across her chest. Her deep blue robes were enriched with forest-green leather stitching. She was here as a healer, but Magnus knew she was willingly prepared to fight if the situation arose for it. Ragnor, on the other hand, was well versed in crafting his magic into attacks. He was here to fight, and Magnus was grateful.

Which was why their apprehension surprised him.

Catarina said, pointedly, “So, did you have a good night?”

Magnus blinked. “Well, yes…”

_Ah._

It was clear now, why his friends were aggravated. They must’ve arrived during the night, or in the early hours of the morning, when Magnus had been…occupied.

He suddenly realised why they were acting like this. They had survived great terrors, the three of them, together. Magnus recalled the many fights and loss they had suffered and lived through simply because of each other's company.

Ragnor confirmed his theory with a sigh. “The Lady Isabelle was rather insistent that we wait for you.” The warlock muttered. “Which we did. But really, Magnus, the prince?” His top lip twitched but he didn’t smile. He grimaced, but there was no malice in it, only dry amusement. “Of all the gentlemen to fall in love with, you had to choose the kingdom’s heir. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Magnus agreed, pouting a little. He raised his shoulders in a weak attempt to show some degree of shame. He felt little to none. Loving Alec was a choice he would make again and again, regardless of the consequences.

And then, just while Magnus was preparing a sincere apology, Catarina and Ragnor exchanged a look, and then they threw their arms around him. The pair hugged the startled warlock. They embraced him with such sudden vigour that it took a while for Magnus to realise what was happening.

He had been played by his friends. Their mock-anger had tricked him. 

Still, he happily hugged them back, his smile returning as Cat’s hair tickled, rubbing against the side of his nose, while Ragnor poked him in the ribs, making him jump back again, with a helpless yelp.

Ragnor’s grin turned to one of proud satisfaction. “You’ll be even more of a legend if we make it out of this alive.” He bragged.

“ _If_.” Catarina stressed. She levelled her two friends with a glare. “No foolish showing off, no arrogance, and absolutely no pride.” She warned them, raising a hand to point between them. “If you need help, ask for it. If you feel weak, regain your strength. Power is not limitless, remember, my loves.” She finished softly. There was an aged, hollow look in her usually warm eyes. Magnus knew that they were all preparing to deal with loss. Again.

“No selfless heroism either.” Magnus quickly added, needing to gain the upper hand again. He raised a finger at Ragnor and added, “You have a soft spot for mortals too. Don’t hide it, my dear.”

The three of them shared another laugh, finishing only when Catarina scanned her eyes down, taking in the landscape, and the waiting demons and horrors below. She gave a small sound of agreement. “At least there are no Greater Demons. The battle would be terrifyingly imbalanced with those bastards on the playing field.”

“I think you’ll find,” Magnus said dryly, patting her shoulder. “, that _we’re_ the bastards. But I am glad.” He admitted. “There will be no awkward family reunions today.” He threw his head back to stare up into the sky. “Thank you.” He addressed the clouds above with a sardonic smile.

Whatever higher power was watching did not care to grace the warlock an answer.

“You are too good to me, my friends.” He said to the pair.

They both did little to argue with this statement.

Magnus snorted. “Don’t all rush to shower me with affections at once.” 

“We would, really, but there’s a battle to be won.” Ragnor clapped a hand over Magnus’ back, and then Catarina stepped closer until the trio stood in a circle. They grinned with quick, terrified smiles that refused to cave in to the overwhelming fear.

If the world collapsed today, Magnus knew that they would have few regrets.

“You are my greatest treasures.” He told them quietly. “I love you both, very dearly. You've seen parts of my soul that others have flinched away from. Please, stay alive. Selfish, yes, I know, but I would dearly hate to live in a world without your faces.”

“They are rather exquisite ones, hm?” Ragnor teased, agreeing with a charming smile. He winked. “You too, darling.” His expression sobered. “Give them hell.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Magnus felt his smirk turn dangerous. He gazed down at his new attire, admiring the sharp lines and curves. He felt the magic in his veins, and the pulsing energy of adrenaline flooding his body.

“Don’t you remember, my dears, who you are talking to?” He let his amber eyes reveal themselves.

Magnus was half fire; half hell.

If this world burned, it would be because _he_ said it could.

~

Gazing down at the valley below, Alec couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of calm.

It was in the cool air. It was in the way the battle seemed so far away.

The sloping hill below eventually levelled out into a large plane of rocky ground and grass, hardened by the early winter greeting them. To the left, Alec observed as the valley gave way to small groups of rocks, sharp angles sticking up across the landscape like leftover traces of fallen angels. The mass of demons – visible in blurs of black and shadow – waited below. Although their shapes varied, Alec still couldn't muster up the focus, the concentration, he knew he’d need.

 _Soon_.

For the moment, he rested a hand atop the Mortal Sword and simply let the gathering armies see their prince. He hoped that his expression was a neutral source of comfort. As someone who had been raised as a knight and leader, Alec was painstakingly aware of just how many people were now directing their prayers towards him. Magnus had left to change into his battle clothes, leaving Alec to pace across the space, darting between knights and anxious faces.

Just then, Alec turned a fraction and caught the eyes of the armies lining up behind him. He noted the splashes of red, scarlet cloaks and armour proudly bearing house sigils. He took in the anxious faces, as well as the grinning, bloodthirsty looks too. 

_Are you all ready to die for this land?_

His thoughts took to an even darker, frightening path.

_Are you all ready to die for **me?**_

Alec’s fingers were gripping the Sword tightly when someone clasped a firm hand over his shoulder. He jumped, startled.

“Don’t hate me. Promise?”

When he spun around, Alec was already bristling at Jace’s tone. He was watching the prince worriedly, his brows drawn together.

Alec had seen that look on his friend’s face countless times. He had hated every plan that left his lips afterwards.

The last thing he needed before the battle was bad news. Alec forced the dozens of nightmarish possibilities back down into his stomach. He would wait, and see. He had to. Still, he snapped and demanded, “What? Tell me.”

It surprised him even further when Robert made his way over, his expression grim. The way his father avoided Alec’s direct gaze forewarned the prince. He wasn’t going to enjoy what came next.

“Do you agree that stopping Valentine is our main concern?”

“Yes, b-“

“No buts this time, Alec. If you believe that, then you have to see that destroying the Cup is our main goal as well.”

Alec didn’t like where this was going, especially when Isabelle and Clary were making a pointed attempt not to reveal anything. Even Lydia gave a slight shake of her head when he narrowed his eyes at her.

“You have to go and do that, Alec.” Jace said. His voice was too soft, too prepared for Alec to argue. His friend’s arms were by his sides, but the sadness in his eyes was almost painfully tense. He held up a hand imploringly, never once looking away. Jace might be ready to dive headfirst into a fight, but Alec knew that he was always watching out for others as well.

“Use your words more wisely, Jace Wayland.”

Magnus was suddenly by his side, and Alec only had a few moments to appreciate how elegant and deadly he looked in Luciana’s gifted gear, before they were standing side by side, waiting for the truth to come out.

“Glamour.” Jace blurted out.

“What?”

“Magnus, could you glamour a small group?”

Alec turned to watch for a reaction, and when Magnus frowned, but nodded, Jace let out a quiet sigh of approval, and began gesturing. “Can you see over there?” He pointed to the sloping curve, one of the sharper ones further from where the main valley – and battle – would take place. More large, slanted rocks decorated the hill there. Although it was closer to the island, it was too dangerous for a large company to trek down-

Alec’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

He shook his head. “Absolutely _not_. You’re insane.”

This was when Robert chose to speak up. The king raised a hand, and the commanding silence it invited was not a suggestion. Everyone stilled, letting the man speak. “What if it wasn’t a request, but a command, from your king?” Robert said. His father watched him with a soft look, the kind he rarely gave unless it was a dire time.

And now it was.

“This is madness. And you, Iz, you agree with this plan?” Alec glared at his sister, and ignored Clary’s protesting scowl.

“What _is_ the plan?” Magnus asked, resting a steady hand on Alec’s shoulder. The gesture was slight, but it calmed Alec a little. He noted that Magnus’ own hands were tapping out an anxious rhythm against his thighs.

“Take a small group, and head down that way. Make it to the island, and destroy the Cup. It’s the only way to end the fight.” Robert said. He hesitated then, glancing around to see who was in close proximity. When he realised it was just them, he began again, and sadly said, “Alec, you know we cannot win this battle. Not without a miracle. There is no use in all of us playing the distraction. We can hold them off for as long as we can, giving you and your team time to find a way to end this once and for all.”

As if the world wanted to steal Alec's hope, bit by bit, Jace gripped his arm tightly. "I'm leading the army with the king, Alec." He revealed. "Let me do this for you. It's my choice."

"And I'm staying with him." Lydia said, coming over to stand by him. They exchanged a look, and smiled. 

Alec was too shocked to protest. A thousand answers came to him, most of them angry cries. But as he looked around the gatherers, he knew that this was it. Their time had run out. It was reckless and sudden, but the plan was a last resort. 

 _Will you leave him behind?_ A voice in Alec's head asked, crying out.

He finally met Jace's eyes, reluctantly. 

_I can't do this. I can't say goodbye to him._

“I need you.” Alec told him, plainly. He watched as the tears formed in Jace’s eyes, and when everyone glanced away, they seemed to understand. They left, one by one, to give the pair a few moments alone together. Magnus squeezed his hand before following Isabelle and Clary, the trio heading for Luke and Jocelyn. 

Alec waited until everyone had given them some room, and then he glared at Jace, shaking his head fiercely. “No.” He shot out. “We cannot be parted in battle. Do you hear me? How can you suggest this?" He raced on, ignoring the angry tears forming in his eyes. "I know you enjoy racing recklessly into a fight, but Jace, this is insane. You….” He broke off, the sudden constriction in his voice cutting off his protest with a choke.

He glanced away before the tears came.

Jace simply nodded. “I know." He said. There was a soft understanding in his voice. Alec hated it, found it unbearably decided.

Jace tugged at Alec's hand, until he was facing him again, and his eyes were also damp. "I don’t want to leave you either, Alec.” Jace quietly said. He took a step forwards and clasped Alec’s forearm tightly with his hand. He waited until the prince found his gaze again. “I love you, Alec." Jace spoke earnestly, a devoted prayer in his goodbye. "My prince, my _brother_.” He raised his other hand to wrap around Alec’s neck, holding him in fierce adoration, and love. “You must live. You are going to be one of the greatest kings this land has ever known. If I have to leave this world before you to ensure that, so be it.” His eyes glistened, and Alec could not look away.

This kind of love, selfless and unyielding, rendered Alec speechless. He couldn’t speak, and certainly couldn’t attempt to return the favour. He settled for pulling Jace into a hug.

Whispering into his neck, Alec said, “I love you too.”

He said it over and over again in his mind. Would it be enough to reunite them after the battle?

They pulled back, and then it was time to leave. Alec knew he had already been pushing his fortune.

Not everyone got to have a goodbye.

Really, he was blessed to see Jace throw another smile over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. The archers were already lining up, ready to fire out into the valley when the first sectors began to charge.

Sound came from every direction; wind whipping around, people talking, praying, laughing with half-frozen lips and shaking hands.

When he had found his small group, Alec did not look back. He forced his eyes not to search out Jace, Lydia, or any of his other friends. He refused to seek out his father. He had to believe that this was not the end for them, otherwise he wouldn’t have the courageous to turn away and do his duty.

With a heart that threatened to break, Alec closed his eyes. He gave the signal to charge with a nod.

A horn blew with a single, loud note. It tore the peace apart in a second.

Thousands of men thrusted their swords into the air, let out an array of shouts, screams and bloodcurdling cries, and spilled down into the valley.

Alec looked up and felt his breath catch.

The sun was rising steadily, an hour ahead of heading for the highest peak.

The battle had begun.

~

For Magnus, it was always the _taste_ of battle that lingered in the air.

There was a thin bile rising in the back of his throat. Wine lingered on his tongue, but beneath the fruit-laced flavour, there was the tingling of blood; blood that was no doubt being spilled in the valley below.

It was then that he and Alec’s group began their careful descent; Luke, Isabelle and Clary also offering their services. 

“As soon as we’re attacked, remember to stay together.” Alec was saying. He kept his voice quiet as they made their way towards the first tall stone in the ground. It was a large granite rock, slanted on its side, and about the length of a fallen tree. It would serve as cover to any overhead attacks, but they would be limited for ground manoeuvring.

Clary had her eyes half-closed, listening out for any demonic energy she could pick up. Isabelle was beside her, guiding her over the smaller rocks as they rested for a few moments. In the distance, the battle was an explosion of cries, unearthly screeches and heat. For a day set in winter, there was an aroma of burning fire scattering through the air. Soot and embers occasionally drifted into view.

The group didn’t have time to risk a look and see what was happening in the valley. It didn’t matter now. There was only this, only their goal to make it to the island, stop Valentine and destroy the Cup.

“Incoming.”

At Clary’s urgent whisper, the group turned to face outwards, and above. They withdrew their weapons, closed into a tight circle and waited, the tension rising to a palpable wave of dread.

And then, shadow-born enemies descended from above.

The demons that scurried over the rocks were small, with beetle-like bodies, and came in numbers. They wasted no time in attacking, and the group did not give them time to gain an advance.

“Scorpios demons. Watch out for the tails, they’re poisonous!” Magnus cried out. He felt their glamours drop in and out, but tried to hold them anyway. He had little time for anything else, except to step slightly in front of Alec. Yes, it was stupid. Yes, he would do it again. Alec was not only the love of his life, but the prince, the heir; if he died, all else would crumble.

As they fought with precision and care, Magnus sent blasts of hot, vivid blue magic into the hoard, and then switched to a burning red, the amber hint a golden glow that sent the demons shrieking as they exploded into shards and pieces. The overhead rock granted them time between waves. The demons could scurry over, but they could not swarm all at once.

When Isabelle had stabbed into the body of the last remaining creature, the group wasted no time. They turned their heads, checking that no one had been wounded, and then hurried on. They made quick process as they flitted down the slope, one large, slanting rock at a time.

Their second attack came about halfway down the hilltop.

“Rahab demons!” Alec called out this time. There were only a handful of the beasts this time, but the demons crawling towards them were much larger. And cleverer. They had lizard-like bodies and long talons. Where they lacked in speed, they made up for in strategy. 

One swiped a claw out, almost grazing Magnus’ cheek. He lunged backwards just in time, but caught the look of fear that twisted Alec’s features into a terrified anguish.

Unfortunately, Magnus didn’t have time to sooth his worries. One of the demons suddenly thundered towards them. Magnus and Isabelle were the closest. With a quick exchange, and a nod, they met the creature in the middle, and together.

Isabelle dived into a roll, slashing her sword into the demon’s thick, scaly ankles. It screeched, and the sound was almost unbearable. As it screamed, high-pitched and pained, Magnus resisted the urge to throw up his hands. Or cover his ears.

He realised almost too late that this was a survival tactic.

“Watch out!” Magnus cried. He had been watching as Isabelle sauntered towards it, her sword raised high above her head. Before she had time to destroy the demon, it turned its body, and head, so sharply towards her that Isabelle was caught in a dangerously close proximity to the beast.

Magnus did not hesitate this time. He stalked forwards and raised a palm, slamming a wave of burning white, anger-burnished magic into the creature’s chest. As the demon exploded, burning up as it died, Magnus didn’t need a reflection to know that the glamour around his eyes had dropped. He could feel his unguarded being rising to the surface. The power beneath his hands, and in his veins, was scorching through every part of his body.

Isabelle was climbing to her feet, and sent him a grateful smile. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her face was pale, but Magnus registered that she was uninjured. Thankfully.

They regrouped in time to watch as Luke tore a fatal gash into the final demon’s soft underbelly. It reeled back, falling onto its back. Its heavy weight shook the ground beneath them. It disintegrated just in time for the trembling rocks above to start cascading down like angry rainfall.

Magnus quickly threw up his hands, in time to create a large arching dome above their heads. He waited until the last of the rocks had fallen, and then dropped the protective sphere. His magic tingled, starting to whisper a warning of protest. He was still filled with fire, and enough power to start – or end – a war, but he understood and respected his being.

He knew that he would soon be weakened if he kept at this pace, this _intensity_. 

“Is everyone safe?” Alec called out, as they headed further down the hill. Everyone nodded, breathless, but alive, and began to continue their descent. The water, and the island, was coming into view now, and from their higher point, Magnus could make out vague shapes; both demon, and human.

Attempting to silence the war cries coming from the battle was a nightmare. Magnus tried to blot out the terrible wails and sounds of slashing swords and the bubbling aroma of death. It was almost too much, overwhelming his senses with fear. He carried on, focusing his mind, and his strengths. Clary had been alert as well, always giving them seconds to prepare before another demon attack sprung out at the group.

By the time they reached the final collection of rocks, Magnus could feel sweat across his forehead. Exhaustion rubbed into his bones. He was weary and tired, but still on edge. A fresh wave of demons could leap out at any moment.

"So," Luke quietly asked. "How do we reach the island? Swim?" He said dryly. 

Magnus almost smiled. “Well, we’re going to have to force someone to…aid us.” Magnus said pointedly. He was already scanning and searching for any sign of someone nearby. He knew that most of Valentine’s followers would be at the battle, but surely some would stay behind. Valentine was smart.

Clary suddenly shuddered violently, and Magnus didn’t need to speak because he suddenly felt a ripple of awakened magic sweep across the plane.

Ripples appeared in the air, parting into a void, of which out stepped a handful of figures. From across the grassy plane, they advanced towards the group with predatory grace. Smoking, inky blackness coiled around their arms as they cut across the ground. The dark magic around them flickered like a snake's tongue. 

Realisation sent a new bolt of tension around his body. Magnus inhaled sharply _._

_Sorcerers._

There were only three of them, but the small number wasn’t the problem here. With the right moves, and careful choices, the group could’ve taken them on, and some would’ve survived. Likely, all, if they were lucky.

But then, Magnus spotted _her_.

She was adorned in a deep green dressed that hugged her body like the sheath of a dagger.

And oh, what a weapon she was.

If Camille Belcourt was to be his death, then Magnus agreed that she was a splendid, terrifying sight to behold in his last moments. She was as dark and beautiful as she had been on that fateful day. Only now, instead of stalking down the Lightwood castle's hallway towards him - sneering that he had betrayed their kind - Magnus watched Camille smirk with a sly sort of pride.

“Hello, darling.” She purred.

Her voice was less silkier than he'd remembered. And a great deal more taunting. Only perhaps it was simply because he could truly see Camille now; really see the woman, the sorcerer, approaching.

“Stand your ground.” Magnus warned the others, holding out a hand as they began to encircle the group. Unlike back in the clearing, with the lone sorcerer, this band of dark magic-wielders were not rushing. They were encircling the group with grace and a slow pace.

All the while, the spots of dark magic, a fog of midnight shadow, coiled around their arms and hands. Magnus could _hear_ it, feel the lives they had drained to procure their dark entities.

“It’s been too long.” Camille called out. She was tilting her head to the side, dark hair spun into an elaborate knot on the top of her head. Along with the dark, painted lips, and the velvet necklace constricting her throat, she gave the impression of a queen taking a stroll through her garden, not a sorcerer preparing to strike.

There was danger in her calm nature. She concealed her temper behind a tight-lipped grin almost just as well as Magnus concealed the flicker of pain stabbing at his gut. He couldn’t help but feel a tug towards her. It was barely a flicker, a warning at best, but for a long moment, he remembered what it was to love her.

At least, what he’d once thought was love.

Camille didn’t give him any further time. “So, my love, what’s it to be?” She was standing a few feet away, resting a hand gracefully against her elbow. “Survival, or destruction?” She laughed, a single sound of a mirth-filled song.

Magnus never wanted to hear a note of her terrible glee again.

“Say the word, Magnus.” Isabelle murmured, her voice carrying only to her companions. “We’ll be ready.” Beside her, Luke, in his werewolf form, held himself stiffly. His ears were pricked, flat against his head as he snarled at the nearest sorcerer; a tall man with reptilian eyes and an equally cruel sneer.

They had space to fight now, with the rocks higher up behind them, and the bare grassland opening up. 

“Your little crusade,” She snapped suddenly, her eyes flicking between Magnus, and the others. “, is pointless. Futile to the point of boredom.” She emphasised this with an arched brow, a little gesture that Magnus had once found endearing. Now, it sickened him. “I suggest you come without resistance.” Camille said. “You’ve expected, after all.”

 _Expected_.

Of course they were.

Magnus quickly glanced back. He found Clary in the back of the circle. She had her sword raised, her knees bent as if ready to launch herself into the centre of things. And Magnus had no doubts that she would. He almost smiled then, proud, despite the terror wreaking havoc with his nerves.

“Oh, you’ve figured it out then.” Camille simpered. She pointed a curved nail in their direction. “Why, what quaint company you find yourself in these, my dear. Come along now.” She half turned, giving a flick of her wrist as if to end the conversation.

Magnus was suddenly perplexed. 

“You…want me to leave?” He said slowly.

“Yes. Darling, don’t be a fool. You’re coming with me. You always do.”

Magnus bristled at her breezy tone. She really did believe that he was weak; drawn to her like one of those fireflies towards a burning fire.

Camille stared at him for such a long moment that he began to grow restless. She was always good at this, he recalled now; excelling in painful, long silences between false apologies, until he was reaching out, ready to console her, or win her over again.

_Not this time._

An unreadable emotion toyed with her stillness. Magnus saw it in the slightly narrowed eyes. Camille was uncertain, hesitant for a few seconds as she frowned across at him.

All around them, the other three sorcerers were poised and ready. Their arms half-raised, they were frozen in place. As soon as the group moved, they would be taken down with the dark magic swarming like clouds of smoke around the clearing.

 _You can give them a chance,_ Magnus told himself. The power in his veins hummed as it came closer to the surface. It was a waterfall of energy, and Magnus was ready to spill it over the edge until it drowned out the threat.

It would weaken him, perhaps even fatally, but the group could attack.

Selfishly, it would also mean that someone else would fight Camille.

Even now, Magnus was unsure that he could bring himself to do so. His stomach tightened at the idea of fighting with her. His lip curled in a pained, twisted attempt to hold back the cry. Still, his hate was just a single droplet in the complicated well of emotions that he beheld for Camille.

And she knew it.

Breaking through into his thoughts, a hand gently pried at Magnus' wrist. Without needing to question who it belonged to, Magnus took comfort in the small gesture. He smiled, helpless to the brief moment of peace before the fight.

And if Alec’s hand meant anything, it was that. He was saying, _okay, let’s do this, I’m ready and I’m with you._

Magnus still couldn’t let himself look away from Camille. He was too focused, keeping the challenge firmly between the two, rather than letting her cruelty wander towards the others.

When she glanced down at their entwined hands, clasping side by side, Camille opened her sneering mouth and said, “Well, he’s lovely, but he won’t last-“

A dagger sliced through the air so quickly that Magnus felt the speed of it almost cut into his cheek. It darted past him and almost sliced into Camille. The sorcerer shot to the right just in time to avoid a deep, slashing cut.

“Say that again, and _you_ won’t last.” Isabelle called out daringly, her protectiveness more frightening than any weapon. 

All hint of cold amusement in Camille’s eyes was gone. It was replaced with an empty violence. She was lost to the game now: searching for blood simply for the sport.

“Last chance, darling.” Camille said. She extended a lovely, long arm. “Come to me, stay by my side. Choose me, and I’ll ensure your….friends,” She almost choked on the word, her expression turning briefly to bewilderment. “, receive a swift death.” She shifted, her hips circling sharply as she turned left, then right, keeping them uncertain of her next move. “Valentine needs us. It’s the time for downworlders to reclaim our place in this land.”

“He hates our kind.” Magnus snapped. “You’re a fool if you don’t see that, Camille. He’s using you.”

“Oh, really? What makes you so certain that it isn’t the other way around?” She laughed again. “Valentine is a necessary step. A woman simply cannot survive in this world without _pretending_ to obey a man.”

 _Is that all we were? Pretending?_ Magnus wanted to ask. If only he had the time. _Did you ever love me?_

A terrible screech suddenly snapped the tension. However, even the sorcerers, and Camille, turned their heads. They all watched as overhead, creatures began to blot out the sun.

“Clary!”

Magnus risked a glance back. He watched as Isabelle bore the weight of the other girl, holding her up. Blood dripped from Clary’s nose, and onto her chin, as she closed her eyes and was muttering to herself. Her body was trembling, but she stayed upright, gripping onto Isabelle’s fingers.

“I’m trying to s-stop…them.” Clary rasped out.

Magnus gasped in realisation.

The creatures above indeed were the beasts he’d long thought were lost from this land; destroyed, killed and chased away.

But now, they were here. Proof was in their long, soaring wings, and their sweeping movements as they headed towards the valley.

Towards their people.

The only question was as to whose side they were on, if they had one at all.

It made sense now, what Clary was struggling to do. She was reaching out, just like Magnus had attempted to teach her. She was fighting to control, or likely subdue, the creatures.

 _Dragons always were a sign of good fortune,_ Magnus thought, with a fractured, but hopeful smile. It was a small, broken thing, but he let it grow. His lips became a full, wide smile, and soon he was shaking off the fear. He shook off everything that had led him to this moment.

“Who sent them?” Camille demanded. It was clear, judging from her wide eyes, that she had not anticipated their arrival either. It led Magnus to believe that his theory was correct. The dragons had come of their own accord.

But to who were they aligned to?

“Never mind.”

Magnus flinched at the sudden grin on Camille’s face. She shrugged, lazily smiling. “It’s no matter. They are called to the Cup, and Valentine is closest. He will command them, to obey him.”

Cold, knowing, numbness spread through Magnus then.

It was true. If Valentine had limited control, from his countless number of failed sacrifices, he could still command the creatures to side with him.

_We’re all damned._

They needed to reach the island. Now.

The others sensed this new urgency and bristled.

Camille rocked back on her heels, her shoulders hunching over, ready to make a quick dash across. The three sorcerers surrounding them watched her, waiting for a signal, and permission.

Magnus felt Alec reach for him again, only this time, it was with purpose that he pressed his palm against his. Magnus smiled, understanding, and wishing he had time to thank the prince.

“Camille,” Magnus called out.

Everyone’s attention turned to him. Before him stood a woman he had once loved; a woman who had once embraced him with one arm, and held a knife behind his back with the other.

Camille lifted her chin. “What?” She demanded.

Magnus took strength from Alec as gently as possible, but he felt the sudden shock of it explode like fire within his veins. His magic was a burning, white-hot star; an explosion that almost rolled his eyes back from the brute force of its strength.

When it was screaming, begging him to release it, Magnus smirked in Camille’s direction and reluctantly let go of Alec’s hand. “You were right." Magnus said, lowly. "It will be a swift death. For _you_.” His voice dropped as the magic crept into his throat. Only, it wasn’t a noose aimed at him.

“My dear,” He said, slowly. “I hope you find the weather tolerable in hell.”

Camille didn’t bat an eyelid. “Very well.” She smirked in that wicked, sly manner of hers; the one that had accompanied many soul-sucking evenings of Magnus trying to make her feel again. She inclined her head towards him, almost in a mock bow. “I’ll save you a place, my darling-“

An arrow found its way suddenly embedded into her shoulder.

Alec had fired without hesitation, his aim true. But again, Camille had used her gifted speed to dart out of the way. She snapped off the wooden shaft, smart enough to leave the metal inside the wound. 

It was all Magnus had time to see.

The other sorcerers swung into action at the same time as Magnus’ company did.

The first move he himself made was on instinct. Magnus threw his hands out to the side, summoning up as much power as he could muster – without crossing the line into dangerous territory – and swept a rippling wave outwards. It washed across the land like a crescendo. It sent Camille and the three others stumbling back. They were only disarmed for a few seconds, but it gave the group a head start in their attacks.

They lunged, grasping the advantage with everything they had, Magnus included.

Luke and Isabelle took care of the two sorcerers closest, keeping Clary inside their close, smaller circle, as they attacked. The sorcerers did not attack like warlocks did. Although magic varied with each being, Magnus knew enough about dark entities to know that their magic drifted out from the ground, not the body. It latched onto a part of them, hence the dark, swirling smoke encircling their arms, or legs. It was a summoned evil, drawn from the unwilling deaths of innocent lives.

Their magic latched out in tendrils, and Isabelle was cutting fiercely through each stabbing shadow that hurtled towards them. She spun, and Magnus saw one curl around Clary’s neck. It was seconds from tugging – and likely snapping the girl’s neck – when Isabelle gave a loud cry. She flung herself into a spin, landing in time to bring the sword down. It cut neatly, and completely through the smoking wave. It coiled back into the ground like a mist-born snake.

Magnus was faced with the third sorcerer, as Alec and Camille engaged in blows. He hated that he couldn’t throw himself in front of the prince. He barely had a second to think, before someone was slamming into him.

No, not someone, _something_.

A sparking, ugly gray wisp of magic had shot into his chest.

It didn’t pass through, but sunk into him, mixing in with his own, burning magic. Fortunately, Magnus' magic won out, disintegrating the sorcerer’s power without a protest. Still, the physical blow affected Magnus. He was stumbling back before he could stop it.

Thinking quickly, he used the momentum to throw himself onto the floor, remembering his lessons from the knights. Combining the physical aspects with his magic felt like the safest option. Magnus was pleased to realise this was the right decision. Soon enough, he was able to dodge the blasts of smoky magic, slam the heel of his palm into the man’s nose, and hear the satisfying crunch.

He didn’t wait for the blood to stream, or even for the sorcerer to scream in outrage and pain. Magnus just settled both hands on either side of the man’s shoulders and shoved. Hard. With force, and with magic, Magnus lashed out, and watched as the sorcerer screamed as he fell through the air, landing with an audible crack a long distance away.

Magnus turned away, ready to assist the prince. After all, he had seen enough. There was no way the sorcerer could survive that, especially with Magnus’ head reeling from the strength of his own attack.

Luke and Isabelle were doing well, holding off their assailants with swipes to the legs, and the face. They aimed for bone and vulnerable skin.

Quickly, Magnus spun around, his overcoat brushing the ground. He scanned the clearing, but there was no sign of Alec.

_Where is he? Where’s Camille? Where are they?_

“Oh, bugger.”

Magnus had finally caught movement to the left, and true enough, Alec and Camille were exchanging attacks still. They were battling and leaping amongst the rocks above, with Alec now using his sword to attack, while Camille defended herself with coils of magic. She was smiling. Magnus could see, even from a few feet away, and he felt a prickle of anxiety scream at him in warning.

Alec had climbed to the rocks, and was using his agility to his advantage. Whereas the sorcerer had magic, and experience on her side, the prince was quick and nimble. He had a good eye for space as well. He was darting up and down, spinning and keeping Camille in a frustrated mood; one that made her slip up, and give him chances to injure her.

Pride and anxiety propelled Magnus forwards at an equal force.

 _I’m coming, love,_ he thought, racing towards the duelling pair.

As he tore upwards, from rock to rock, minding the sharp ones, Magnus shot out a pulse of magic, careful to avoid Alec. It knocked Camille off balance and she growled, turning her head sharply to note the intrusion.

“You’re late.” Alec called out, breathlessly. His plated chest was heaving. Sweat glistened across his forehead. Although he didn’t let himself look away from Camille, his lips were almost a half-smile of gratitude, and tenderness.

Even in the heart of battle, the prince looked enchanting; his strength and grace knitting together in one, glorious form.

“I’m never late, dear,” Magnus retorted. “I just like to make an entrance.”

And with that, he swept another wave of magic directly into Camille, but she repelled it with her own. A swarm of golden light exploded with the smoke. It was a picture of contrasting energies; burning, passionate magic, and darker, ambitious greed. The sound of it resonated like a drumbeat. For a moment, Magnus thought it would drown out everything.

It rippled back, sending all three of them tumbling down onto the rocks.

“Ouch.”

One of the stones stuck up sharply, digging into the nape of his neck. When Magnus touched his fingers to his head, his fingers came away sticky and dripping with red. He blinked, surprised to not feel any pain at all, but when his vision blurred at the edges, he knew that it wasn’t imaginary after all.

He could make out the shape of Alec as he climbed to his feet, equally dazed. Fortunately, Camille wasn’t standing, likely coming to herself. She was there, somewhere in the maze of tall stone and rocks. He could hear Isabelle’s grunts coming from below, in the clearing, and a flash of red hair, and silver fur, told Magnus that the others were still alive.

For now.

“ _Magnus_ …..”

“…get up…….”

“…..can’t move you…..”

On the third try, Magnus took the outstretched arm without a thought. He heaved himself up from the rough ground. His feet wobbled, but someone was there to steady him, a firm grip on his forearm. Fingers dug into his wrist, making Magnus wince, but he was grateful for the pressure. He used it to focus.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

Magnus rubbed at his eyes, wiping away the blood. He inhaled, ignoring the sharp pain that throbbed inside his skull. It would have to wait until after the battle. He needed the rest of his strength.

A chuckle sent a cold, startled shiver down his spine.

Magnus stepped back, but the hand gripping his wrist suddenly turned forceful. It kept him in place with a brute force. Magnus was too shocked to fight back, and that split second of doubt, of confusion, was his downfall.

“Your prince is otherwise occupied.” A voice – cool and dangerous calm – spoke from the standing figure, still a blurred form from Magnus’ fall.

Another moment later, and his eyesight returned.

Magnus almost wished it hadn’t. He gasped, and then flinched back, readying himself-

“So glad you could make it.” Valentine greeted him with a cold, proud smile. Madness gleamed in his dark eyes. “Now, let’s take this somewhere a little more…private, hm?”

The last thing Magnus saw was the black pupils of Valentine’s eyes growing larger and larger. They turned into an inky pool, a portal of ugly, midnight black, and then a wave of overwhelming, sickening dizziness ripped into Magnus.

It settled in his lungs, embraced his rib cage and squeezed the oxygen from his body.

He was falling back again...

The world turned black, and still.

~

“Clarissa, the time is not yet. Stay still. It’ll all be over soon.”

The voice that drifted into Alec’s thoughts was not angry. Or frustrated. It was a calm voice, a prepared one.

If his arms were free, Alec would have flinched at the familiarity of it, but the prince was restrained by strong hands. He couldn’t move.

Even with only a handful of memories remembering the exiled lord, Valentine’s cool, commanding voice was just like Alec had remembered as a child.

As his eyesight returned, the figure closest to Alec faded into view, giving the voice a face. And a terrifying face it was indeed. Valentine Morgenstern was as sharp-eyed as he was terrifyingly ambitious. His calm madness seemed to engulf his disposition; his chin was lifted, proud and sure, and he barely gave Alec a glance as he came to, letting out a quiet groan as the dull, throbbing pain told him that he had been struck, just like Magnus had been.

Alec gasped, remembering. _Magnus, Izzy, Clary, Luke…_

“Ah. The heir awakes. Welcome, Your Highness.” Valentine greeted. It took only a second of the banished lord observing Alec before he added, “Your friends are unharmed. For now.” He waved a hand and Alec followed – or tried to, given his dazed state – to a spot to the left.

Sure enough, Isabelle, Magnus and Luke were all in similar situations: kneeling on the ground as they were held by powerful arms. Alec had no doubt the arms holding him down belonged to sorcerers, or Valentine’s followers. They gripped his arms tightly. The blunt force of sharp nails hurt enough to jolt him awake fully.

_Where are we?_

Wherever they were, the sounds had shifted.

The battle cries felt further away, distant, as if swimming in water. Another sound tore through the air. It was a strange, low-pitch humming that stole breath from Alec’s lungs. It delved into his oxygen supply and tugged at his chest, squeezing uncomfortably.

Once he focused his mind, and trained himself not to allow it to distract him, Alec finally looked around.

His surroundings were almost enchanting, beautiful in a haunting sense. The ground beneath them was mainly grassland, with hard dirt and decayed flowers scattered about. The colours had all been drained, as though swallowed up by the ground itself.

Alec followed his gaze across, and up. The island was hardly large, but it was like a world of its own. Crumbling stone rested at certain points, remains of a structure that had once stood. Other than that, there was only one other object that caught Alec’s eye.

Valentine was waiting patiently beside it, his eyes locked on Clary’s form. The red-haired girl was struggling as a man and women held her upright, pinning her arms firmly behind her back. She was grunting as she kicked and struggled, and despite everything, Alec felt a pang of pride.

Beside them, a few feet away, stood the legendary object that had cost them so many lives already, and spanned their adventures across the land. The object that had started it all, the quest, the war, the struggle against darkness, was finally within their grasp.

The Mortal Cup was raised on a column of marble.

The stone itself was ordinary enough, cracked a little, but otherwise intact. It was the surroundings that gave it the impression of being tormented by dark energy. Cracks in the ground had opened up the space around it, a circle-shaped rift that disappeared far down below. Every so often, a ring of warm, golden light, would pulse outwards, rippling across the land. When it reached a certain point, just in front of where Valentine stood, it stopped, as though hitting a wall.

Alec hid his gasp, certain in one belief.

_We’re on the island. Alicante._

Beside the cracked ground, two statues stood, barely held together by its crumbling marble hold. The Angels faced each other, parallel and silent observers. The once divine space had been corrupted. Alec could sense it, the _wrongness_. The marble faces were now twisted, half-cracked. There were shudders from the ground, and wisps of ugly, black smoke occasionally rising from the circle hole.

Again, Alec was struck by how disturbingly picturesque the whole appearance was. It was like seeing two paintings overlapping: the decaying beauty both sad and ugly.

Valentine was speaking to Clary again, his calm voice carrying through the wind. “We don’t have long to go now. Stay still, Clarissa. This will be over soon, and your duty will be complete. It’ll be over…”

Alec didn’t move. Testing the strength of the sorcerers was beyond foolish. They would overpower him instantly. But as he glanced to the side, and saw Magnus staring straight ahead, and Isabelle and Luke looking defeated, he knew they had to at least _try_.

 _What is Valentine waiting for?_ Alec tried to recall something, anything, that could help, but he was coming up blank.

Overhead, the clouds were a dark, stormy gray, and Alec frowned. Something clicked into place.

_‘Upon the day where the sun rises in its highest peak.’_

Did Valentine know? How could he?

Unless he had discovered the prophecy for himself.

“Yes.”

Alec flinched back violently as Valentine himself suddenly loomed over him. He was standing tall, neither glaring nor smiling down at the prince. He continued to speak, ignoring the hard stare he received in return.

“You thought you were the only ones who heard it, didn’t you?" Valentine's expression was controlled, revealing only what he wanted to. "Oh, Clarissa may have heard it first, but she was once not so…refined with her gift. Oh, don’t blame her.” Valentine chuckled at the look of surprise on Alec’s face. The lord took a step back, resting his hands over his chest. “The first demon attack I sent your way was not a trap.” Valentine explained. “I just needed Lamia to stay long enough to read her thoughts. She was able to place her memory inside one of the demon scouts before you ended her life. Then, it was fairly easy to decipher. I had to let you come to me. Which you did. It was a wonderful display, I admit. I almost thought you would make it to the island yourselves, but no.” He laughed again, a short, confident laugh of someone who had never been mocked or questioned.

_Lamia. The sorcerer who attacked us. She gave the prophecy to Valentine._

Alec was about to bite back a reply, when above them, the clouds suddenly began to shift. A little light peaked through.

Although it was barely a slither, Valentine sucked in a quick breath. It was the first sign of agitation from the man. Until then, he’d seemed almost passive in his goal to gain the Cup’s power, but now, Alec saw the greed in his eyes. It was in an almost giddy way that he rocked back on his eyes and spun around.

He stalked back over to Clary and lifted her chin up. He was her father, but there was no paternal love in Valentine’s stern gaze, no matter how genuine his smile seemed.

“I’m sorry. Truly.” Valentine said. “If there was another with a power like yours, I would save your life. This is the only way. Clarissa, it is a worthy cause-“

“You’re not my father.” Clary surprised him by hissing. “You’re insane.” She threw her head back and then snapped it back, her forehead hitting into Valentine's nose with vigour. Again, Alec resisted the urge to let out a dry cheer, or fight until he could free his hands and offer her an applause.

A single droplet of blood fell from Valentine’s nose. He raised his hand, wiping it away slowly. He stared at her for a long moment. If he was shocked, he didn’t let it show, except for the sudden stillness again.

From the corner of his eye, Alec could see Isabelle’s chest rising in panic. He wished, more than ever before, that he could offer her a word of comfort. Lie, even. They would make it. It would be over soon. There would be peace.

Alec tried to catch Magnus’ eye for the second time since their arrival, but the warlock was staring straight ahead. His eyes were narrowed, in a private war with the Cup, and although he didn’t move, there was a power in his stance, like a deer waiting to pounce.

Alec gazed at him for another handful of seconds, but still, Magnus didn’t look away. His jaw was tense, set in a decisive way.

_What is he doing?_

_Magnus, look at me. Please._

Alec didn’t have any more time to chase that thought. No one did.

The clouds above parted further, letting in the light.

The sun was almost at the highest point in the sky. Which made it all the more stranger when flakes of white starting to drift down as well, as though the Cup’s power had crossed over spring and winter. Between the faded flowers, and the pulsing rings of amber light, Alec felt caught in a dream.

Valentine commanded their attention all of a sudden. He stood before them all, gesturing for Clary to be brought forwards as well.

Alec felt himself tense. The moment had come.

They had to quickly find a way to delay the sacrifice. If they could cause a distraction, perhaps the sun would disappear, and they would have another day to prepare-

“It’s something you cannot understand.” Valentine said. He lifted a hand. Fondness – or, what Alec assumed was the emotional capacity of a madman – flickered across Valentine’s face as he looked over at Clary. “Love,” He said. “, is the ultimate sacrifice. My daughter. The gift I gave to you. I have to lose that.”

Disgust settled itself in Alec’s chest, rattling against his rib cage. He had thought his own parents were difficult to love, but Valentine was an entirely different creature. He was born of a hunger for power and greedily tore down families to find it. He was ready to destroy his own daughter to be able to wield the Cup.

Alec's panicked heartbeat almost drowned out the humming ringing out from the Cup’s power. He closed his eyes. He tried to breathe, tried to think. No answers came to him. In a minute, he was going to have to thrust his elbows back, hopefully catch his opponents off guard. Or search and locate a weapon.

He needed to fight back. They all did.

Just as he was gathering up the nerve to move, laughter spilled out into the air.

Unlike Valentine’s colder chuckle, this laugh was as warm as it always was. To Alec, it was full of joy, and mirth, and victorious energy.

Without a word, Alec already felt Magnus’ revival send a burst of hope into his bloodstream. The prince straightened, focused again. He was sure that Magnus was buying them time. He’d have to trust him, believe in him.

“And they accuse me of insanity.” Valentine sneered. But it had worked. Just for a moment, the lord had taken a step closer, and was frowning. “Care to share? We have another,” He looked up at the clouds, judging the light flakes of snow, and the sun peeking out. “, two minutes at least.”

“Careful with this one.” A third, female warned. “He can be…persuasive.” The voice belonged to Camille, who was holding Magnus’ arms behind his back with the help of a second sorcerer, a dark-haired man with navy robes. Her blood-red lips were pulled into a sharp smile, but there was a warning in her voice. She was making sure that Valentine didn’t step too close.

Valentine cocked his head. “Is that so? I trust your history will not be a problem.”

Camille blanched. “Not at all.” She said coolly. She answered so swiftly that Alec caught Magnus flinch slightly. He knew that it must be painful for Magnus to take her into consideration. His kind heart would be struggling: kill, or be killed.

But when Alec sought out any signs of agony in Magnus’ eyes, all he found was concentration. He found it in the warlock’s focused gaze – which was still rooted ahead - and in the steely quality to his voice. He wasn’t playing around either.

So what exactly _was_ he planning?

Clary was suddenly being pulled closer to the Cup, as per Valentine’s instructions. The men held her carefully, close to where the last of the amber light reached before stopping. It pulsed out in a brighter ripple, and Alec blinked, dazed again. The ground was starting to tremble again, and when the snowflakes fell in another batch, they were heavier, mixing with the faded flowers and the dazzling sun.

“It won’t work, you know."

That certainly grabbed Valentine's attention. 

With a mere five words, Magnus had captivated the lord completely.

Valentine turned back to him and asked, “Is that so?”

“I’m not lying. Why would I? Except for wanting you to die, of course, but asides from that, we can treat each other with respect, hm?” The cold tone in which Magnus spoke tainted the polite words with bitterness. It was a twisted, dark anger; one that Valentine noticed the change in.

Alec was starting to grow fearful now.

They had maybe a minute left. Perhaps less. The sun was teasing at the final cloud, ready to shine down from its highest point in the day.

The prophecy could come true. Soon.

Calling out to the man and woman, Valentine held up a hand, but kept his eyes on Magnus. “Get her ready.” He said. “If he makes a move, push her through the circle.”

Alec shivered. He was really ready to sacrifice his own daughter, without a care.

“Clary!” Isabelle let out an angry cry then. Clary swung her head around, their eyes meeting across the distance. Distress poured into Alec, and he hated that there was little time to think.

“As I was saying,” Magnus interrupted swiftly, but he cut in deliberately, with eyes that challenged Valentine to look away first, which he didn’t. He kept still, but watched Magnus from a safe distance. Camille dug her fingers into his collar bone, but Magnus did not flinch again. He simply smiled. “It won’t work. That I can promise you. You said it yourself, but you’re blinded by ambition. You think the sacrifice requires power. It does. You think it requires surrendering something that cannot be obtained again: a life. It does.” Magnus paused, tilting his head to the side. “But you _are_ wrong. Clary isn't the answer. Well, she could be..."

Valentine's eyes narrowed. "How am I wrong?"

If it was a bluff, it was a damn good one.

Even Alec felt himself straining to listen, above the noise of the heightened humming, and the cries from nearby.

Valentine’s hand was still half-raised, ready to gesture for Clary to be moved into position at any second. Isabelle’s eyes were trained on the other girl, as if she could somehow mentally transport her closer.

Kneeling, but stretching his neck to the side, and then the other, Magnus’ expression turned to cold amusement. He had an air of calm about him now. It wasn’t just taking his time, but as though he really did believe that Valentine was wrong.

It was an excellent ploy, and Alec was proud. Terrified, anxious and tense, but also filled with admiration.

But then the entire axis shifted.

Up became down and left became right. Alec’s world turned itself violently over.

Magnus started the process. He said, “Madmen like you come and go, and yet, there’s a reason you always fall at the final moment.” He closed his eyes. There was a pause and then, when he opened his eyes, his eyes were a burning, angry amber-gold, his cat eyes brighter than ever before. Their terrifying beauty was so similar to the Cup’s. “You’re always blinded.” Magnus calmly said. “So full of hate and arrogance that you refuse to reconsider the one belief you cling to.”

Something snapped in Valentine then, causing the final shift in his calm exterior. He shook his head, the movement jarringly sharp. “I don’t need a downworlder explaining anything to me. You’re an _abomination_.” Valentine sneered.

The cruelty did little to affect Magnus. He simply shrugged. “That may be, but I’m not yours to define.”

Everything happened, then, so suddenly, and without warning.

The sun burst out from between the clouds, the snow started falling heavier, and in a single, fluid movement, Magnus rose to his feet. A flick of his wrists later and Camille, and the other man holding him from behind suddenly crumpled to the floor, without a sound. They simply collapsed without a fight.

“You-“

Ignoring Valentine’s panicked cry, Magnus didn’t advance on him. He raised his hands, palms spreading out like he was holding an invisible sword. Perhaps he was. It certainly felt like he was armed, given the way he was wielding his words like daggers, curving them into bloody truths that Valentine couldn’t handle.

Isabelle and Luke climbed to their feet, eyes wide. Alec himself was too shocked to move. What was happening?

“Fine. Have it in ridiculous terms you can understand.” Magnus blinked slowly, opening his eyes again to reveal the intense, amber glow of his demon mark. He grinned. “In this story, in your foolish, cruel story," He smirked at Valentine's crumpled figure. ", I’m the monster that’s going to slay the hero.”

Magnus cried out as he lifted his hands and sent a wave of magic so fierce and powerful that Alec felt it strike his own chest. It seemed to ghost through him, like it was avoiding those who Magnus cared for. It struck the hearts of the others on the island, the guards who had sensed the commotion and ran over. The guards, and Valentine himself, collapsed onto the floor. They didn't rise again. Their chests still rose, but Alec was sure they wouldn’t stand for a long time.

But Magnus wasn’t stopping.

Alec suddenly grew frightened. What was he missing here?

There was something very wrong happening. Magnus wasn't enjoying this, not really. His expression was tormented. 

As Magnus knelt by Valentine’s side, Alec could finally see the unreadable look on his face. It was calm and content, but it didn’t relax the prince. It was the expression someone wore to deliver bad news. He wasn’t looking at Alec either.

In fact, the prince realised that Magnus hadn’t met his eyes in a long time. Ever since they’d awoken on the island.

_What does he know?_

Magnus was being so careless with his magic, barely giving any regard to how it might drain him. Why didn’t he care? He was strong, but how much did he have left to give?

 _Enough_ , Alec prayed. He still didn’t have the strength to stand, his knees wobbling. Isabelle had rushed over to Clary. They were embracing, pulling each other up onto their feet, and looking around, shaken but uninjured. Luke limped over, tired, but alive. 

“You see, you had it wrong. All along.” Magnus stood up, but his eyes were still on Valentine. It was a victorious smile, but his hands trembled as he raised them half into the air, poised with grace, but finality too. He said, “It wasn’t about power. It never was.”

"Magnus, what..."

Alec broke off as Magnus turned to face him. Finally, he could see him properly. He made to go towards him, but Magnus shook his head, sadly.

He faced Alec, and the others, and said, “The sacrifice requires  _choice_.”

With that, he took a simple, single step backwards: through the circle of light.

He stepped into the Cup’s protection, lost to them all.

“No!” Alec screamed. It was a cry that erupted from his lungs, and his heart, but it was useless. He had already failed, and watched the warlock step back into the circle of magic.

Alec was hurtling towards him, hoping, praying, _begging_ that he could do something; anything. He could maybe grab Magnus by the sleeve, tug him by the robe until he was out of harm’s way. Safe and sound. Alive. Well.

But he wasn’t.

_Let me reach him._

_I’ll do anything, just let me save him._

Alec was just in time to extend an arm towards Magnus when the warlock shook his head, pain twisting into his features. He threw up his hands again and a barrier formed around him. It was a shimmering, see-through arching dome, much like the one he’d used before. Only this time, it was separating Alec from the man he loved. It stretched, curving around like a cold embrace. It kept him alone, with the Cup, that had started to glow, a burning gold. 

The ground hummed even louder. 

 _Say it,_ the dark, steady, unbearably sure part of Alec commanded. It demanded the truth.

_He’s going to die._

Alec slammed into the barrier. Dazed, blinking, and with hot tears streaming down his cheeks, Alec ignored the burning pain. His lungs cried out for air, and he gulped in a few breathes, frantically coiling his fists and cracking them against the magical barrier.

“Let me _in_.” He tried to scream, but all that crept out was a torn sob.

The arching dome shimmered and shuddered violently, but still, it did not break. It remained a barrier between them.

“I can’t do that, Alexander.”

Even with the barrier as a divide, Alec could hear Magnus’ voice as clear as the pulsing light surrounding him. He stood so close, separated only by a thin, slither of magic. Magnus’ magic. His choice.

_His sacrifice._

What had Magnus said? Seconds before, what had he said? It was about _choice_.

Alec hadn’t figured it out in time. When he’d been afraid, Magnus had been deciding, realising and choosing. All these years, Valentine had been seeking out a power unlike any other; a being who possessed a gift, like Clary, or a darkness that could outweigh the light of the Angels. The flaw in his plan had been the most simple of all; a glaringly obvious truth to those who could consider a concept that went beyond power, beyond darkness and destruction and wanting to rule the world.

It had taken a creature of light and darkness, a being like Magnus Bane, to unearth the secrets of the Angels.

All along, it was about a sacrifice of the heart. It was being afraid, and choosing to take the hard path anyway.

Helpless, and unable to think of a single word, Alec beat his hands against the unyielding barricade. Tremors echoed off the wall, but the hits made little damage.

Magnus’ smile turned sad. “Please.” He said, softly. “Stop.” He was hissing in pain now, as tendrils of magic began to coil out of his body. It was like ribbons being cut from him. They floated through the air, out of him, and towards the mounted Cup.

It was then that Alec added the scene unfolding before him together. The Cup was draining Magnus. It was taking his power, and his life; stealing his magic and withdrawing it, bit by bit.

Magnus was trembling from the force, but the barrier did not waver.

“Only you or I can use the Sword, Alexander.” Magnus' voice was quiet, but it carried through the magica. “, and I won’t let you die for me. I’m being selfish and there’s no time to try anything, so just….let me. Please.” His voice was fragile, breakable and barely audible above the humming of the pouring magic.  It was a cracked, hoarse apology. He was lit up, glowing from the backdrop of amber light. His eyes were flicking, fading in and out of his true colour.

He met Alec’s eyes and the vulnerable fear was so raw that it neatly cleaved Alec’s heart in two. Half remained in his chest. The other was beating a bloody, useless attack against the barrier.

Magnus lifted and outstretched a hand. He pressed it against the shimmering white barrier, and a small fraction of space opened up, like it was a tiny keyhole that Alec was given access to. It was just enough for Alec to lift his own hand and finally, he was able to touch the warlock. The rest of the sphere separated them still. He slipped his fingers between Magnus', holding on tightly. They were just as warm as he’d remembered, the magic humming delicately around his wrist like a cuff.

All was quiet, except for the humming, pulsing throbbing of the Cup, as it grew brighter. Ribbons of light continued to cut from Magnus’ trembling body.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to be this for you, Alec. I never wanted to be the reason you learn heartbreak." Magnus gripped his hand tightly, and looked away. "I…don’t know what to say.” Magnus was crying now, holding up the barrier, but weakening. His face crumpled and he latched onto Alec’s hand tightly, with an almost violent fierceness.

Alec wanted to tear down the walls between heaven and hell. Magnus was _terrified_.

From the other side, Magnus rested his forehead against the glistening wall. He dug his nails into Alec’s fingers. “Just hold my hand, Alexander. _Please_.” He whispered. “I can’t do this without you.” The shaking vulnerability in his voice was something awful, and Alec could hardly bear it.

A cold, dark part buried inside his mind told him that soon he wouldn’t have to bear it. It would be over. Magnus would be gone.

Alec clawed at the wall with his free hand. Eventually, he gave up. He reluctantly surrendered, accepting what was about to unfold. His hand fell, dangling uselessly to the side. All that was left was space for their two hands, and the truth.

“You’re…leaving me.”

As soon as Alec whispered it, the truth was decided. The weight of it settled around the pair, around the island, like a fog.

“Forgive me,” Magnus pleaded, answering Alec’s fears.

Ignoring the shaking ground, and the pulsing light, Alec shook his head, holding back another bout of sobs. “You promised me a lifetime,” Alec whispered. He bit his lip, but the blood was a bitter attempt at feeling anything like the pain inside him.

Magnus stumbled, and for one frightening moment, Alec thought that was it; that he would simply fall, and it would be over. And then Magnus steadied himself again, lifting his chin to meet Alec’s gaze. Each movement was slow, languished.

It was with trembling effort that Magnus smiled. “I wanted one.” He professed, tracing Alec's hand with gentle fingertips. Each touch was the final one. Alec knew it. “I wish that counted for something." Magnus cried out again, and when he steadied himself, his grip had loosened. "Oh, but I swear it will it be the dream that will carry me into the next one. How’s that?” He asked sadly, but it wasn’t very soothing at all.

“This…I-” Alec broke off and thought of something else to say instead. He had to know the truth. “How long did you know?”

Magnus shook his head, desperation filling his voice. “I only realised it when Valentine spoke about power. About how he was right,” Magnus promised. He coughed, a spasm of violent shudders. A thin trickle of blood made its way down until it reached his chin. The ribbons of magic leaving his body were growing fainter, softer. There was less urgency because the warlock was almost drained.

His time was up.

 _No,_ Alec thought, hoarsely _. Our time is up._

“You didn’t know? You swear it?”

“I never would have let you…” He trailed off, looking away. Pain tightened his lips into a thin line.

_I never would’ve let you fall in love with me._

Alec finished the sentence, and then wish he’d never done so.

And there was the other agonising truth of it all: Magnus would have done this regardless. He would have done it for a stranger, for anyone who'd suffer if he refused. It was the simple choice of a selfless heart that the Angels wanted. Not darkness, or power, or even a martyr. They wanted truth and love. Magnus Bane was the vessel of compassion itself, bearing it like a curse and armour all at once.

“I just…wanted to hold you. One last time.” Magnus tightened his grip, desperately holding onto Alec’s hand. “I need some of your strength now, my love. Sacrificing your life isn’t an easy thing, you know.” He laughed, and then cried out again before the smile reached his eyes.

“Magnus, please. I don’t care about the land. Come back. Stop this. Please. I can’t let you do this. I don’t care who suffers-“

“Yes, you do. Oh, you do care. More than anything. And so do I.” Magnus quietly revealed. There was too much of a goodbye in his voice. His lips twitched. “I have lived for a very long time. I’ve had a love that not many people could ever dream of. I’ve had you, Alexander, in all your beauty. You will mourn. I know this. It will feel like you are dying, but I promise you this: you will not. Your heart will still beat, and you will smile. One day.” Magnus brushed his thumb across his finger, sweeping across the bare skin with tenderness. “I’ll wed you in another life, Alexander.” He promised; a bittersweet hope mixing in with Alec’s tears.

There was only a single stream of magic fading now, smoking away, and towards the Cup. When it faded, Magnus would be dead.

The warlock sighed, glancing behind him. He smiled sweetly at the man behind the barrier. “I think…it’s time for me to go now. I’m surprised I was given enough time for this.” Magnus said. His eyelids drooped-

_"No!"_

Alec raised his hand again, trying to beat through the wall again.

“Stubborn man.” Magnus mumbled, shoulder shaking with sad, silent laughter. “Stubborn, loyal, brilliant, beautiful man…” He trailed off, and Alec only caught parts of the next words.

Magnus started to fall, still leaning against the barrier. “…mine….love you…love…”

“I love you,” Alec whispered. He begged Magnus to hear it, squeezed it into his hand, even as Magnus’ grip was loosening. He was sagging against the shimmering wall, but still, it didn’t yield under Alec’s now bruised and bleeding knuckles. He continued to pound and scream against the light.

Magnus fell to his knees, and Alec fell with him, keeping his eyes on him. He gazed helplessly.

“Remember….the Sword….use it, Alec…. _use it_ …”

“I will.” Alec said. Or did he? He was unable to think, or speak, so he was unsure if he’d spoken the words or not. Tears blurred his vision almost completely. They stung worse than any demon venom.

Magnus weakly lifted his chin. He raised a hand, as if to trace Alec’s cheek. “The boy in the library,” Magnus said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “, tell me….tell me he’ll be okay. Tell him…he’ll be loved one day. He’ll be wonderful enough to unlock a warlock’s heart, and brave enough to love him back. Alec…I would have endured an eternity of darkness just to love you for one lifetime. If there’s a heaven, I’ll kick up a fuss and wait outside the gates.” He laughed, a breathless, awful, coughing sound.

Alec sobbed, a hand coming up to hold his throat, as if he could force the sounds, and the truth, back inside his heart. If he could stop the tears, stop the pain, perhaps he could save Magnus somehow. He could think again and a plan would reveal itself.

_No one is coming to save you._

_This is the sacrifice._

“The kingdom will honour you. Always.” Alec vowed. “I will make sure your name is in everything I do.” It was the only thing he could think to give Magnus back, just a shred of the love he had given, a slither of the loss he was surrendering.

“I don’t want that. I don’t care about being a legend, or a hero.” Magnus said. “I just wanted to love you. That was all. No…” He smiled. “…that was _everything_. You, Alexander, were my everything.”

“Why won’t you let me hold you?”

“You’ll stop me. Or die beside me. And I need you to live, Alec. I need that pretty face to reign over a land that desperately needs a saviour.”

“I was going to do it all with you.” Alec protested weakly.

Magnus nodded in understanding. Tears had made a damp trails down his cheeks. “I never wanted to leave you." Magnus murmured. "Believe in yourself, Alec, promise me, and believe in everything I have seen in you since the moment we met. I’m going to leave one hell of a mark in your heart, I’m afraid, but make it a good story, hm? Tell it well. Don’t leave out the hard parts. Leave in everything; from the start, to now, and to every moment after. I have to tell you something now-“

“No. If you say…that, and I will never leave your side. I will stay on this island and decay. I’ll choose to give up and let Valentine win, and…and…”

“Okay.” Magnus interrupted with a small smile. “Even in the end, you’ll fight me, darling?”

Something snapped inside of Alec then, and he crumbled to the ground, covering his faces with his hands. “I’m sorry." He sobbed out. "So sorry….sorry.”

Suddenly, the light dulled, and the snowfall began to lay in thick, sorrowful flakes. One landed on Alec’s cheek, freezing him to the bone with its icy chill. He shivered, tears turning to ice as soon as they left his eyes.

Covered in flakes of delicate snow, and wearing his smile like one final message, Magnus weakly lifted his chin, and whispered, “Remember – for me - to chase the stars.”

He collapsed to the ground and finally, the barrier fell in a blazing, stark white flash. It rippled out like pools of white light, the glow pulsing for a painfully long moment. When the ground ceased its shaking, the magic around the Cup was gone.

The protection had faded.

Magnus’ sacrifice had been accepted.

A cry tore itself from a dark, tormented part of Alec’s soul. He stalked towards the cursed object, livid fury in his heart. The Sword had appeared in his hands, and he didn't care at all how it was there. The fates could go and die, for all he cared. Alec bore the heavy weight of the Sword and felt it flare to life within his shaking hands. Tears pouring from his eyes, Alec lifted with both hands and swung his sword in a wide, sweeping motion downwards.

"Alec!" He heard Isabelle scream out.

But it was too late. 

He crashed it into the Cup, and the land exploded.

Alec was thrown backwards, hurtling a short distance away. For a moment, he was flying, and there was snow falling, and the heavens beckoned, and Alec didn’t care. How could he? Somewhere out there, Magnus’ soul was leaving this land, and here he was, alive, and lost in a turmoil of regret and agony.

It was torn clean in half. And the pulsing light faded, forever.

Alec didn’t care, as he watched the snow fall in heavy waves, and the battle, far away, seemed to rage on. 

The sight of Magnus' crumpled body sucked the life right out of him. Alec fell to his knees before him, and with a numb heaviness, cradled Magnus in his arms, and wept. They had won, but at a greater cost than they’d ever feared.

“You promised.” He whispered, ignoring everything else. He was alone, holding the body of his beloved in his arms.

 _I couldn’t save you_ , Alec thought _. If this is victory, take it back. Please, please. Take it back..._

Out loud, in a cracked, bleeding voice, Alec whispered,“I would rather be in hell with him than live in this world without him.”

No one answered.

The heavens were silent, and so were the fiery hells below.

Alec cried until his breath choked, until Magnus’ hand grew colder and colder.

Alec took a deep breath and reached forward. He closed Magnus’ eyelids before kissing his forehead.

 _Goodbye_.

Did he regret any of it? Would their fates have changed if Alec had waited another minute before entering the library all those years ago?

_No._

It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Because Magnus’ head was a dead weight in his lap, the snow was painting them in colourless chaos, and there was still more fighting to come.

 _Get up,_ Alec told himself.

He cried, “I can’t leave him.”

Alone, with the snow landing all around them, Alec bore the weight of a destiny that had torn his heart in two.

He kissed Magnus' forehead, his full lips already turning pale. His lovely eyes were closed, forever. Alec lifted Magnus into his arms, and faced the battle.

Where was the light that would guide them ahead?

He was without a compass. Lost, afraid, and with frozen tears mixing in with the snow, Alec cradled Magnus’ body in his arms and trembled from the weight, and the pain.

_I’m lost._

The sun was behind the clouds. With a broken heart, and a head that begged him to carry on fighting, Alec felt as though it might never return again.

He had seen winter as a blank page.

But it had been the end of things after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun, hm? :)  
> :)  
> :)  
> :)  
> Okay, but please don't hate me too much. The next chapter will show what happened in the valley with Jace/Lydia/Raphael, etc.  
> So...there's still tough bits to come.  
> This chapter took a lot of work, but I really wanted it to be perfect, so do drop a comment/find me on twitter - @clockworkswan96 - or tumblr - 'clockworkswans' because it means the world to authors when you let them know your thoughts <3  
> Anyway. I must go now. NO SPOILERS FROM MEEEEEE. *skips off into the sunset*.  
> *whispers* what do you think is going to happen next though?


	19. Meet Me On The Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings!  
> So, yes, um...it seems the last chapter was #sad.  
> But things will get better, some time in the future.  
> For now, there's a battle to be fought!  
> The title comes from the song by SVRCINA, which is very fitting for the chapter.  
> This was supposed to be one part, but it got far too long (again).  
> A lot goes down in this chapter, so brace your cute butts!!  
> Come find me on twitter @clockworkswan96, and tumblr; 'clockworkswans'.  
> Fic playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSiTrGCAbt8&index=14&list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc

**Chapter warnings: battle violence/blood/injuries.**

~

Letting Alec and Isabelle disappear down into the valley had been like asking Jace to pour hot spice into an open wound.

He would have suffered through a dozen of Izzy’s poorly cooked meals in order to prevent it.

But it was the right choice.

It had to be.

“Tell me this is going to work," Jace quietly said. His voice felt disembodied, like he’d stepped outside, and left part of his soul in Alec’s arms. He was watching the back of the prince’s head as it wove quickly through the crowd. His long strides were focused and purposeful. Did it kill Alec just as much, to walk away from his best friend?

With a pang, Jace knew it did.

Jace waited and watched as Alec raised an arm and sent up the signal, before turning to face the woman standing by his side.

“This is for the best, right?” Jace asked her. “I wasn’t being an idiot for once?”

“It was the right move,” Lydia reassured him, matter-of-fact, “and it was the _only_ move.” Lydia’s hair was pulled back from her face, the usually smooth skin now taunt with worry lines. She managed to put on a brave face, but her smile didn’t reach her lovely, round eyes. “Jace, I promise you, you did the right thing.” She reached out and took his hand in hers, the gauntlets clinking.

“Alec or Magnus have to destroy that Cup.” Lydia’s words rung out, a premonition most final. “It’s the only way to end this once and for all-“

Whatever she’d been about to say was disrupted. The overwhelmingly loud sound of the battle horn suddenly rang out, soaring over the valley. A great array of cries and cheers resonated out.

Jace made sure that he already had his sword out before the first army moved into place. There were ten sectors, half made up of mortal knights and volunteers, and the other half made up of downworlders; the Guild warlocks, werewolf packs, the Seelie army, and anyone else who’d offered their services. Altogether, their numbers were great, but as Jace began to charge down with his battalion – with Lydia, as always, by his side, ready for anything – he knew the tide could easily turn.

With footfall thundering against the ground, and clouds forming overhead, the battle began.

The demonic opponents attacked in waves.

No. Jace saw it more as _storms_ of demons. They invaded the battlefield with frenzied fury. Some scuttled like beetles, and others darted, more shadow-like in form than a physical being. They ranged in sizes, speed and attack styles, but all had one intent: to kill. They swarmed across the valley, and soon the planes became grim grounds for survival.

The grass would soak up blood and demon ichor alike.

But with magically enhanced weapons, the knights and their allies fought with relative success. At first. There was unity in the army, despite their varying differences of kinds and upbringings. Mortals protected faeries, wolves tore at demons to save a warlock’s life. Knights were fighting side by side with those they had once passed in the serving quarters.

And then, a shift happened, one that made Valentine’s warriors and creatures gain favour.

The ground started to tremble. It shook as a violent tremor tore into it.

_"What the hell?"_ he hissed to himself, trying to avoid the fractured earth. 

Jace realised all too late that something was coming up from beneath. In fact, many things were. Thick, dark shadows started to wisp up from the cracks. Some lunged out, as though they were the arms of spirits, and others snaked along the ground and tugged at the army’s ankles, sending them sprawling to the floor.

_Sorcerers._

“Look out!” Jace cried, dodging a shadowy web that struck at him. He swung his sword down, and the shadow faded. Soon, the battlefield became an uproar of demonic screeches, human cries and desperate shouts for help. The sorcerers who had sided with Valentine were weaving through the valley. They were few in numbers, fortunately, but their dark magic was powerful. Their long robes were as dark as an executioner's. 

Jace feared how many people had been sacrificed already, to aid their magic.

A few feet away, Lydia was aiding a small group of villagers who had lost the upper hand. Jace ran for them, cutting a path through a small pack of ravener demons as he did. Hastily glancing around, he was met with chaos from all sides. It wasn’t an organised fight anymore, on either side. It was messy and brutal. Demon ichor sprayed everywhere. A knight fell prey to a sorcerer’s attack one moment, and a werewolf lunged for a demon the next.

It was hard to pinpoint if a victory was close, or wildly unreachable. 

It was all a blur.

The urge to close his eyes was overwhelming. Jace felt the temptation of it: the surrender, the easy way out. He’d be cut down in no time. He wouldn’t have to watch the end of it all. But he had promised Alec and Isabelle, promised his family and friends that he’d grant them enough time to ensure that no one else was killed.

_Don’t give up. Not yet._

Somewhere, in the neighbouring valley, Jace’s brother was alive, and fighting. He was becoming the king that Jace had always been eager to follow. What would Jace’s death bring Alec now? He had to keep fighting.

And so he did.

As the battle raged on, both sides driving each other forwards, and then back again, fragments of fire and magic spun across the grassland. Jace was dodging coils of magic until sweat covered his upper lip. He jerked back from demon pincers, tails, and teeth.

It was a dance he was well versed in, but today, it felt different.

It was charged and fragile. Seconds stood between victory and defeat.  

Finally having a handful of seconds to catch his breath, Jace glanced up. The sun was almost at its highest peak in the sky. In the corner of his eyes, the knight caught odd shapes coming from the distant island. He caught clouds rolling overhead, and heard what sounded like rain, starting to storm from within. Or was it snow?

Whatever it was, it meant that more than one fight was breaking out.

One here, in the valley, and another, out of reach on Alicante.

Jace sucked in a breath. _Please, Alec. Please be okay._

There was only a few seconds to process this, because not soon after, a much larger threat appeared. They began to soar through the skies above the battlefield. The unmistakable display was like something out of a leather-bound folk tale.

_Dragons_.

“By the Angel,” Lydia cried out, startled. She appeared by Jace's side in the next instant. Her cheek was scratched and splattered with black ichor, and her braid was coming undone, but she still looked like an angelic warrior to Jace.

Even the sorcerers on the battlefield seemed to hesitate then. Everyone looked up, waiting. There was an odd moment of harmony. Everyone - creature, human, demons alike - waited for the soaring beasts to come closer, to see where they would fall on the battle. Who would they attack, if they even distinguished between them?

In the legends, Jace recalled, dragons came of their own free will. They lived across the ocean, in the hidden parts of deserted islands. But they hadn't been spotted for years. And yet, here they were now; flying overhead, huge creatures with raised, rusty-red scales and beaded eyes. 

“Will they attack us?” Will asked, Jem standing by his side. Raphael was a few feet away, taking down the last of a dahak demon hoard. He spun around, sword slicing through the final one, and then strode across to meet them. 

“I don’t know-“

Jace broke off abruptly. Fear knotted itself in his gut. The cold realisation splintered his courage, rendering it useless given the knowledge he had just recalled.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” she demanded. Her hand reached out and gripped his tightly. The rare, wild look of fear in her eyes startled Jace out of his haze.

“I think they’re being controlled by the Cup,” Jace said.

All of a sudden, this was confirmed when the dragons began to screech. Their cries flew over the valley, tormented and ugly. If they had originally come of their own free will, now it didn’t matter. They were being controlled by Valentine, by the dark power he had stolen from the Cup due to the failed sacrifices.

Downworlders and humans who had fallen to Valentine’s tricks were unknowingly helping to slaughter their own kinds. It was sickening. Jace felt fury rise to overthrow his fear.

“They don’t seem willing,” Lydia commented. She then gave a cry as she dodged out of the way of a sorcerer’s blast. Will and Jem exchanged a look, and ran off to cover them, fanning out to give the pair more space to fight.

Lydia raised a fair point. If the dragons were fighting it, that meant someone was interfering. Jace knew only one girl with a gift like that. He only hoped that Clary could keep them confused long enough to destroy the Cup. 

“They’re at the island then,” Jace said grimly.

“Then our job here is almost done," Lydia said, inclining her head. "Let’s see it through."

“Still,” Jace gave himself a moment to grin as he gazed up at the magnificent beasts. “My dreams came true,” he said wistfully. Childhood dreams of chasing down dragons and riding them across the skies lulled over him. Just for a second or two, it was almost peaceful. 

The moment was broken when Lydia shot him an outraged look, her bruised lip paired with a scowl.

“Uh, after you, my love.” Jace grinned in apology. “So, strategy? I’m thinking-“

“Duck!” Lydia cried.

Trusting her instantly, Jace lowered to a crouch, and Lydia flipped over, using his back as support.

Garbed in simple black pants and long, gray robes, the sorcerer who then faced them had dark red hair. Her tall frame hunched as she bent over, predatorily circling the pair. Her arms were extended, palms half-raised in the air as orange flames danced across her hands.

_One against two,_ Jace thought. _Decent odds._

Jace exchanged a quick look with Lydia, making sure she was uninjured. She nodded in silent agreement.

Swords raised, and lives at risk, they both leaped into action.

The tall sorcerer was far from a strategic fighter, but she was persistent. Unyielding. She used the battle raging on around them as cover. She would duck amongst others, attacking when they were caught off-guard by a lesser demon. Lydia managed to slice through the woman's shirtsleeve, blood welling across the sorcerer's now-torn forearm.

“I’ll pay you back for that, girl,” the sorcerer sneered, and Jace swallowed. The look of livid fury on her face was as sharp as the sword in his hand.

It was dangerous to wound a sorcerer's pride.

Bile rose in Jace's throat, but he pushed aside the spooked feeling. 

Without warning, Jace felt something dig into his back. He swung around on the spot, swinging his blade on instinct. The shax demon screeched, its teeth snapping inches from Jace's face. It had sprung up, but Jace had turned just in time. The creature fell to the ground, but quickly re-positioned itself, ready to strike again.

_Come on, you bastard,_ he thought, baring his teeth. _Try again._

After a second, the shax demon gave chase again. It scurried forwards and leaped. Jace was ready for it, and ducked, feeling one of the pincers scrape at his temple. When he'd thrown it over his shoulder, Jace pirouetted and quickly stabbed his sword down. It pierced between the ribcage of the creature before it could attack again.  

In the brief minute he'd faced the shax demon, Lydia had been fighting the sorcerer. 

By the time Jace started to run back, ready to fight beside Lydia again, it was too late.

Seconds before, and Jace would’ve been able to change the next event. He would have been able to stop it.

The shax demon's distraction had forced a little distance between them, and as he raced over, Jace was forced to witness the horror unfold before his eyes. He tore across the ground. He pushed with all his strength.

It didn’t matter. He was too late, and that was it.

“No!”

He was just in time to watch the sorcerer twist Lydia’s left arm behind her back, the jarring angle forcing Lydia to her knees. She let out a painful cry, but the sorcerer’s smile only widened. Meeting Jace’s eye, as he ran across the cracked land, the woman gave a second, brutal twist.

The sorcerer had demanded payback, and she’d taken it alright.

With a merciless power that came from dark, twisted enjoyment, she had torn Lydia’s arm completely off. Both braid and blood spilled out across the valley. Lydia collapsed, body shaking violently as her face grew paler and paler by the second.

_No no no no n-_

Just as Jace reached the pair, and was swinging his sword in a wide arch – to send the sorcerer, hopefully, stumbling backwards – a nearby warlock caught sight of what was happening. He had large antler horns and moved with grace; quick and nimble. The man threw up a wall of magic around them, keeping them temporarily cut-off from the warring forces.

Numbing his heart, and steeling his nerve, Jace felt rage like no other that had come before it. It all came together inside of his chest: the aching pressure of protecting others, the love he felt for Lydia, and for his family. He wielded the enraged devotion, directing it towards the sorcerer.

As the sorcerer cast her arms wide, ready to throw more magic his way, Jace was once again taken aback by how quickly events transpired.

The antlered warlock had stepped up to join the fight. Suddenly, and without word, he immobilised the sorcerer from behind. Brows furrowing in concentration, he managed a nod in Jace’s direction.

Jace understood. He was holding the woman, suspending her in time. His magic trapped her. As much as she struggled, the sorcerer was helpless. 

_No tricks this time. You're mine._

It should've satisfied Jace's fury, but he hungered for more. He craved the need to see her blood coat his sword. He needed to watch her fall, to beg and tremble. Only then would he exact his revenge. 

“No-"

Jace broke his own word. He didn't wait.

He silenced the sorcerer without a second thought.

He sliced through her chest with such vigour that his forehead collided with hers. He could feel the dark energy of her leaving the world. He withdrew the blade, chest heaving, and felt the blood drip from the steel and soak the ground, darkening it even further. A bitter aftertaste of regret and lost prayers soaked into the earth. 

Battle rage was common. Jace knew this. But even as the sorcerer fell, all Jace wanted to do was tear into the next one, and the next. He was fairly certain, mortal or not, there was nothing that could survive the anguished, merciless focus that was driving him on. 

_Keep fighting. Honour them._

_Love them, and keep going._

As soon as the sorcerer crumpled to the floor, Jace fled back to Lydia’s side. Her body was still violently shaking. With a half-focused look, blood spilled from her gaping wound, and trickled down her lip. Jace was hesitant. And then furious again.

The love of his life was bleeding out, and he was hesitating.

But where could he start? Did he have time to stop the bleeding? Or even to just hold her while she passed on?

What could he do?

_Nothing_ , a harsh voice told him.

“Jace…”

Lydia’s feeble voice tore at Jace’s heart, sharper than any demon claw, or sorcerer’s snaking magic. She was calling him closer, with a single word.

He leaned in, wiping the blood from her lip. “Lydia,” he whispered, a broken, barely-audible sound. He tried to shift her, but she screamed in protest. Agony tore its way across her expression.

Jace gasped. “I can’t…I don’t-“ He was crying now, cracked lips sticking to his teeth.

“I’ve got her.”

The voice that had spoken belonged to the antlered warlock. He was dressed in the gray, faded robes of The Guild. Jace hadn’t even registered it before. He was barely registering a damn thing. All he could see, no, _feel_ , was Lydia’s blood staining his armour, and feel the trembles growing less and less.

The warlock gently lifted Lydia into his arms, and before Jace could manage even a whispered goodbye, or a prayer, he had clicked his fingers. A portal cut into the air, and then, they stepped through, portaling away into the tents above on the raised hill. They disappeared, the portal faded, and the protective barrier that had cut them off, also faded.

And, there it was, the truth about battle. It wasn’t slow or steady. It didn’t come in waves. It certainly didn't offer time for breaks and catching breath. It was a stream of chance and loss and blood. You had to wash away each new pain that swam along.

Fighters had to bury each new fallen friend in their minds, but turn away with their eyes to face the next enemy.

The goodbyes came afterwards.

For now, Jace knew he had to fight to have those farewells later.

He regrouped with Jem, Will and Raphael, trying to search through the fray and spot anyone in need of assistance. The sun was edging towards the middle of the sky now, and Jace knew that wherever Alec, Magnus and the group were, they were running out of time. They were all, in fact, running out of time.

There was a brief flash of dull, blue light. Jace took up arms, turning towards it. His shoulders sagged – momentarily – in relief. It was a familiar face.

“Isaac said you needed more fighters,” Catarina greeted them with a thin, grim smile. She was armed with a long, curving blade, and coils of deep green magic, the light of it reflecting of her blue skin like fire. The portal closed behind her with one final pulse. It took Jace only a few seconds to realise she was referring to the antlered warlock, who had rushed Lydia off to the healers.

“Glad to know someone thinks we’re on the winning side,” Jace muttered. He couldn’t blame the guy. Havoc raged across the plains in a furious dance of demons and light. People cried out, demons cried out, and all around Jace, he could see no way out.

But that was okay. He didn’t need to survive this. His people did. _Alec_ did.

_By the Angel, Alec, you’d best be alive,_ Jace thought, beaconing the thought towards whenever his best friend was.

Catarina was by his side. “So, where do we-“ She broke off suddenly with a gasp, turning her head sharply to the left again, where the portal had been.

“Simon!”

For a moment, Jace almost didn’t see him, or recognise him. Simon was standing a few feet away, his cheeks and hands faintly covered with blood. His eyes widened. He didn’t appear to be wounded, and Jace realised he’d been helping with the injured. A sting of pity, and remorse, hit Jace. How many fallen friends had Simon already seen today?

Which was why it surprised Jace when Simon approached them in a few, long strides. Determination coloured him in fierce courage, his brow furrowing and his arms swinging by his sides like weapons.

“Simon, you can’t be here,” Jace hissed, but even as the boy came closer, a part of Jace knew that he had no right to instruct him to bow out.

Before anyone could say another word, another figure noticed him. Raphael let out a choking, torn sound as he flew over, grabbing Simon by the forearm. For a moment, Jace thought the knight was going to kiss him. Or hit him. Maybe both.

The visible pain on Raphael’s face was like an open wound. His voice was just as torn as he cried, “Why are you here? You’ll…”

“Please, Raphael, I have to-“

“No,” Raphael cut off whatever the boy was going to suggest. He shook his head, strands falling across his forehead like whip lashes. His lip curled in anger, but his eyes gave him away; the raw fear, the yearning for Simon’s safety.

“I can help,” Simon insisted, his fingers gripping Raphael’s arm fiercely. “Please.”

“Don’t you dare,” Raphael snapped. He looked around, eyes hastily searching for something. After a long moment, he growled in frustration. “Damn it,” he cursed. When he faced Simon again, Raphael had lost some of his anger, but he still looked ready to throw Simon over his shoulder and march him up the hill.

Instead, he said, “Listen, you get back up on that valley as soon as the next warlock portals down. In the meantime, take this,” Raphael instructed, withdrawing a smaller blade from the leather strap tied to his thigh. He shoved it into Simon’s hands, and to his credit, the boy was ready, and gripped it tightly as he nodded.

“If something happened to you, and I was…I wasn’t with you…” Simon broke off, anguished. “I would rather be by your side. That’s all.” For someone usually fumbling his way through words, he looked incredibly sure of himself now.

Raphael lifted a hand, cupping Simon’s face with a tenderness that seemed to overthrow the blood-soaked battlefield. For now, there was just this brief moment of comfort. “Defend yourself,” Raphael implored. “Please.”

Jace was unable to hold back any longer. “Uh, guys,” he called out, waiting until they were looking in his direction. “We might have a bigger problem right now…”

_A real big problem._

_Lots of them._

Whatever Clary had been doing to keep the dragons at bay had failed.

Clouds had formed over the island, and if Jace hadn't felt the sun beaming down from above, he'd have sworn a storm was approaching.

He didn't have time for any other thoughts.

The dragons swooped down, landing with a heavy crash at various spots across the valley. They were huge beasts, but they manoeuvred in slow, long movements. They snarled at anyone who approached, and Jace caught sight of the one nearest to their group. Its beady eyes narrowed, focusing on them. 

"Oh, great," Jace muttered. He heard the clanking of armour as Raphael, Simon, Jem and Will pressed in close. They moved into one, single line, swords raised, and waited for the beast to move.

Clouds continued to roll overhead above the island. Alicante was a storm of snow and dark shadows, but Jace couldn't steal anymore glances. The dragon demanded his full attention now. 

Whatever was happening at the island had failed. They had failed. Alec was likely dead, and Isabelle, and Jace couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his king either.

They were all going to burn, or surrender. There was no mercy to be had. Not today. The hopeful beginning had reached a conclusion of blood and fire.

With a ear-splitting roar, the dragon's head reared back, and from its gaping mouth, a cry shot out. Something that sounded like ‘forgive me’ and ‘run’.

And then, it attacked.

Burning heat seared the ground as fire tore from the dragon's jaws. It didn't seem to be aiming, but the spray was a wide arch. Jace and his group lunged out of the way, but the fierce heat scalded Jace's cheek and he hissed, wincing. 

He was scrambling to his feet, just in time to see the dragon thundering towards them.

Jace, Raphael and Simon moved to the left; Jem and Will, to the right, and the dragon stilled, its huge frame sending tremors into the earth.

Just as it began to swing around, Jace tried to formulate a plan. Or spot its weakness. Perhaps the belly underneath had scaleless spots. Perhaps he could pierce the flesh, or become a distraction to give his friends time to-

_Oh, hell._

Far too late, Jace realised where the true weapon was. 

He'd been so focused on spotting a weakness, that he'd missed the dangerous strength. 

The dragon didn't need to move to gain victory. At least, not _all_ of it did.

_The tail._

“Raphael!” Simon screamed. He dived in front of the other knight. Jace was horribly frozen in shock. He was forced to watch as the spike-covered tail slashed across Simon’s face. The boy fell, his entire body seizing as the pain tore into him. Blood covered his hands, and Jace couldn’t bear the screams, and so he did the one thing he could do. With his friends falling so quickly, Jace was determined to go down beside them. While Raphael crouched, protectively covering Simon's body with his, Will and Jem had gotten lost in another demon hoard. They faded back into the flood of people and creatures. 

Jace was alone, staring down the dragon with tears in his eyes, and blood on his hands. 

He felt like screaming out a prayer of his own, forgiveness mixing in with the anger. He dived underneath the beast’s wing, turning, and trying to gain his balance as he pushed up onto his feet again. Narrowing his eyes, he found the soft, fleshy belly of the creature right above his head.

The dragon didn't move fast enough, and Jace did not hesitate. He also didn't have the luxury to apologise. The dragon was just as helpless as Jace was, but in that moment, the knight knew what he had to burden himself with.

His sword sliced into the dragon’s belly, piercing the heart on its first stab.

_I'm sorry. Truly sorry._

The dragon didn't crumple, or slowly fumble to the ground. It collapsed like a star: blindingly violent. It fell with such a heavy thud that the ground cracked again, and Jace was almost caught by the falling wings. He was still thrown backwards, landing on his back. For a single, long moment, he was blinded. Ringing sung in his ears. He came to quickly, but the shock still knocked the air from his lungs.

Someone was standing above him, reaching out an arm.

Jace grasped it, thankfully, and as he climbed shakily to his feet, he looked up, and found the king's face staring back.

"Glad to see you," Robert said, greeting him with a tense, but pleased smile. He'd not worn his crown to battle, which was likely why Jace hadn't been able to spot Robert so easily before. But the king's presence stilled something inside of Jace. He relaxed, but only a fraction. 

"Yeah," Jace began to agree, "I'm glad to see me too." Realising then that he had the sole responsibility of protecting the king, Jace glanced around. "Your Majesty," he said. "We ought to-"

A rippling light of amber broke through his words. It broke through the entire battle, rippling across the valley. It was a single circle of glistening, golden light, and as it washed over them, it wasn't just the wind that shifted. 

After the deafening whistle that accompanied it had silenced, the battlefield transformed. 

Jace stared, stunned. Beside him, Robert was also gaping.

Demons in clusters separated, scrambling away, and crawling into the ground, or away from the fighters. The masses parted. The dragons took up flight again, screeching as they ascended back into the blue skies above. It all happened quickly, and the demons that did stay were taken down easily, their harmony broken, finally.

_They did it,_ Jace thought. _They destroyed the Cup._

In the small, safe spaces of his heart, Jace felt pride spill into his chest. It warmed the cold fear, softening the blows of loss. 

Everything was enhanced. His relief was comforting, but his guilt and pain was tormenting. He didn't know what to feel, or how much to let in.

Jace just watched, keeping an eye on the king as the valley quietened. After a battle that had seemed almost hopeless, in the end, they had won.

But not without losses.

Some of the sorcerers who were loyal to Valentine remained. They didn't need to be forced to help, or controlled by the Cup's power. They stayed and fought, and in a strange way, Jace admired the loyalty of that. But the dark magicians were outnumbered, and when Jace spotted Luciana and Meliorn joining with Maia's group of werewolves, Jace knew the outcome would be victorious. They would win. 

Jace hung back, exhaustion beating against his chest like the desperate fists of a dying child. It throbbed, and he let the pain in. It was a reminder that he was alive after all. He felt weakened to the point of collapse. His arm ached something terrible, and he could barely feel his feet as he stumbled across towards those left standing.

Robert was bending nearby, helping a wounded knight to his feet. Warlocks from above had begun to portal down, assisting those who couldn't stumble up the hill again. Jace turned, spinning wildly as he remembered the fallen boy, Simon. He glanced around, but couldn't find either Simon, or Raphael.

_They're getting help_ , Jace soothed himself. _They'll be okay._

They had to be. Jace couldn't bear to carry the weight of anymore loss. Not today.

Thinking about Alec then, Jace looked up, surveying the island in the distance. The clouds were gone now. But what was the fate of his friends and family? Had they all made it?

All around him, the aftermath of battle unfolded with surprising calm. The friends who had survived were gathering, desperately embracing, or simply gazing, and forcing themselves to accept the outcome; to count the losses and count the survivors.

Injured knights and downworlders alike were being helped up to the tents. A sweet-looking faerie was assisting a werewolf, and two knights were balancing a hurt warlock between them, as he cradled his arm and groaned. Blood and death swam across the valley, but unity remained. A peace of sorts had survived, and Jace prayed that it would be the hopeful force that would help them live to see the next rising sun, helping them want to see it.

That was the second fear; that those who made it, wouldn’t want to get up, would be too heartbroken and afraid.

Jace stared upwards, at the flapping, red material of the waiting tents. They seemed so far away. Although part of him felt the urge to rush, and find out Lydia’s fate, and the fate of everyone else who had been taken away, Jace felt his feet stop walking. He leaned heavily on the hilt of his sword, catching his breath.

_Lydia. I'm so sorry._

Only now did the tears start to blur his vision. He'd almost lost her. Perhaps he already had. Jace hated that he was tempted to stay away from the tents, to be a coward and hide from her fate.

Robert sighed, slowly removing the breast plate of his armour. He stretched out his aching sword arm, meeting Jace's eyes. They exchanged an odd look, and Jace found understanding in the king's eyes; a shared pain for their fallen friends. 

As it was about to turn out, the men would soon be very glad for the brief rest period.

A portal suddenly cracked open. It didn’t shimmer and gently part the air. Unlike a warlock’s portal, this one was an ugly, off-white, smoking thing. It was too bright, too artificial and appeared with an eerie hissing sound.

Two figures were flung from it. They landed on all fours, quickly climbing up and glaring around at their surroundings.

_By the Angel_.

As he took note of the two people, Jace felt his eyes widened.

_Tall. Looks ready to kill. Looks awfully familiar to an ex-lord._

If his guess was correct, then one of the men now standing before him was indeed, Valentine Morgenstern.

What the hell had happened on the island?

It didn’t matter.

The king was by his side, and Jace felt that fiercely blinding concentration overcome his senses. He would protect Robert, and destroy the man who had been the cause of so much death and misfortune. 

The exiled lord, and his sorcerer follower, narrowed in on them immediately. 

“Well,” Valentine sneered. He swung his sword, wrist controlling the movement with expert precision. “Are we going to finish this or not?”

_Oh, yes,_ Jace thought. _We are._

He was going to enjoy this one.

~

“Alec, please, we have to go…”

“I can’t leave him,” Alec repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time. Had he any other words left? Perhaps Magnus had taken more than his heart with him. He had taken Alec’s soul, his essence and his strength to go on.

The island was calm. Terribly so.

It was acting as if the love of Alec’s life wasn’t cradled against his chest, unmoving and without life in his warm eyes.

All around them, there was a normalcy returning. Alec detested it. It was ugly and mocking. The skies were blue, the sun was out, and the snow was starting to fade into soft flakes. 

It was a world of colour and promise, but Alec had no appreciation for the light. Not when it had taken Magnus from him. 

Valentine and his followers were still unmoving, spread out across the island like fallen toys. They showed no signs of movement, and Alec ached knowing that Magnus had been so careless with his magic because he'd known he wouldn't need to recover. Not after the sacrifice. 

Despite the calm, Isabelle was tugging at her brother’s arm, encouraging him with a soft, but unyielding, tone of voice.

“Please, Alec. We will return for him, I promise. We have to go to the others-"

“Why? The Cup is destroyed. The battle will be over. They’re fine. Just...stop."

Alec loathed the coldness in his words. Numbness had faded into a stony, unfeeling pang. It settled against his rib cage, and he felt it every time he exhaled, the force of the emptiness hollowing him.

What did it matter how long he stayed there?

The battle was over. Magnus was gone.

What else was there to say? Or do?

Alicante was a harbour for loss and victory, but the two were fighting a battle inside his heart. Alec wanted to feel pleased, or at least relieved, but there was only Magnus' body in his arms, and remorse in his soul. 

_You promised to fight,_ Alec reminded himself. It was a whisper of a thought, a ghost of the prince who had been focused and determined to become a great leader.

The whisper grew stronger, louder:

_You promised **him**._

As he stroked Magnus’ cheek, refusing to admit that the cold skin would no longer dimple when the warlock smiled, Alec faintly registered Isabelle crouching to sit beside him. He didn’t flinch when she touched his arm. As soon as her fingers wrapped firmly around his forearm, a part of Alec just snapped; let go and flew away completely.

"Iz," he said, his voice a strangled, wounded thing.

The word didn't just break the silence. It broke the prince. 

Everything swarmed around inside his head, circling back what had just happened, and what they had lost to win. Alec fell into Isabelle’s embrace, arms coming up to clutch her shoulders. He buried his head into her chest and cried.

"Hey," Isabelle murmured, stroking a hand through his hair, "we'll get through this. For now, you hurt. Do you hear me?" She held him in her embrace, her whispers fierce and protective. "You cry, you get angry, and you let it out."

And so, Alec did. From over her shoulder, he could see Magnus' fallen body, which only made Alec cry harder. The softness he'd fallen in love with was gone. He'd never dreamed of living in a world without Magnus. He was going to have to now face that world.

Clary and Luke were holding hands, standing a short distance away. Alec caught one look at the soft sympathy in their eyes, and quickly looked away. He couldn't handle sorrow like that. It was almost as bad as the unhappiness-

Silence shattered. The event finished as quickly as it began.

A portal slashed the air open, and the sound of it made them all turn around.

Instinct made Alec leap to his feet. Isabelle was already there, spinning around with wide eyes as they searched for the source. 

They were all too late.

They had a brief moment to observe Valentine’s predatory grin as he stepped through the sorcerer’s portal. 

The pair disappeared, the portal crackling as it dissolved. 

Alec growled, racing forwards, but the white shimmer had faded before he could reach it. He cried out in frustration. They had been distracted, and foolish, to think that those fallen would stay immobile forever.

Especially as the warlock who had knocked them out was currently laying across the grassy ground.

Guilt tore through Alec, and as he rushed to Magnus’ side again, he felt the tears prick behind his eyelids. How could he have stepped away so easily? He lifted Magnus’ head into his lap again, eyes refusing to look away.

Valentine was gone. What did that matter? He didn’t have control anymore.

The Cup was in two pieces. It didn't glow, or emit magic anymore. The Sword was also gone, and Alec wondered if it had returned to the heavens, or to the stone. 

_He can still hurt people,_ Alec’s mind insisted.

How easily it would be to dismiss that thought. Alec wanted to, unbearably so. He wanted to ignore the crumbling world around him. He wanted to mourn until his lungs were crushed by heaving out breathless gasps. He wanted to run out of tears and beat the ground, to pray to every single angel who might be listening.

He had been taught to trust the Angels. Had that been worthless? Had they only destroyed his love?

The others flew to Alec's side again, urging him to stand.

Isabelle did not touch him, but she stared down, eyes unflinching. “Alec," she insisted. "Valentine escaped. We have to go. Now,” Isabelle said. Her lip quivered as she caught sight of Alec’s sorrowful eyes, but his sister didn’t yield.

She lowered onto a knee, gripping his hand tightly. “Listen to me. You are going to stand up and lead. We need you, Alec. I need you,” Isabelle said quietly. “I’m terrified,” she whispered. “I’m not as strong or as brave as you think I am, big brother, and I can promise you that when this is over, we can give Magnus the memorial he deserves.” She swallowed, a single tear falling down her cheek. “Stand up,” she said, holding out a hand. “Now.”

His muscles sore and crying out, Alec did. He climbed to his feet.

Perhaps that was the biggest victory available to him in that moment: to go on, when there was little left to get up for. 

Another burst of light disrupted their group’s preparations.

The four of them turned in its direction, swords raised, and adrenaline bursting in their veins. Luke was half-hunching over, ready to transform if needed be.

To their – grateful – surprise, this time, it was Catarina and Ragnor who stepped out of the second portal. They rushed forwards, and as soon as they caught sight of their fallen friend, and the group, their steps did not falter. A third figure lingered in the portal, but someone was holding him up from the other side. The portal closed, and only Cat and Ragnor remained. Whoever had opened the portal had stayed behind.

The two warlocks looked as forlorn as Alec felt.

“We felt it,” Catarina explained quietly. The softness wasn't gentle. Her voice was gruff, already grieving. “His magic,” she explained quietly. “It was just….gone.” She was already crying, dampness clinging to her skin like ink stains. She did not move to wipe them away. Instead, she lifted her trembling chin. “I always knew he’d leave first.”

Something in that defeated Alec’s numbness. Loss of love was connecting them all, and Alec longed to reach out and embrace the warlock. Losing Magnus was a curse, but Alec knew that Cat and Ragnor had known him for many lifetimes. How was it to look upon a fallen friend, knowing that there would be no more laughter, or inside jokes, or returns to favourite places in the world? Whatever they were feeling, Alec empathised, and understood. Even if he'd loved Magnus in a different way, he felt the loss of that love enveloping him in a cold embrace. 

Ragnor hugged Catarina, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "He was a rare friend. Brilliant, kind and mad," Ragnor said quietly. His chin rested gently against the top of her head.

Clary tilted her head, frowning. “How did you get here?" she asked hesitantly. "You can’t portal to somewhere you’ve not been before.”

Catarina dismissed her question with a sigh. “One of the captured sorcerers opened a portal up," she said. "As soon as we...felt it, we came." She glanced down at her fallen friend, her expression stripped of all its warmth. Vulnerability softened her eyes. "We didn't want him to be alone."

When a few seconds mixed in with the sorrow, Luke inclined his head. "I'm sorry," he began, "but we should leave. Valentine could be anywhere by now." Luke pointed out across to the valley. The cries and sounds had died down, but they didn't know the fate of their other loved ones. 

"Luke is right," Isabelle said. "We have to catch him before he hurts anyone else."

"No," Alec cut in. He shook his head, well aware that he was being a stubborn fool. "I won't leave him here..." 

He met the eyes of Magnus' friends, hoping they would understand. Instead, he found a surprising hardness in Catarina's expression then. She lifted her chin, and despite its tremble, Cat's voice was strong, and insistent.

"Go," she said. The sharpness in it left no room for questions. Before the prince could argue, Catarina gently pushed him aside. Her long robes billowed out as she knelt by her friend’s side. She lifted Magnus into her arms, and Ragnor came to sit by the pair, holding Magnus’ hand in his. He raised it to his lips and kissed it softly.

“Oh, friend,” Ragnor murmured. “You always were a brave bugger.”

From their place on the ground, Cat looked up, anger and pain flashing into her eyes. “You cannot let this be for nothing. Alec," she told him. "If you loved him at all, you will leave. _Now_. Stop this, and don’t you dare let that man slip away.”

It was those words that snapped Alec to attention: a cold, cruel, emotionless focus. He made the decision to agree, and obey.

He had lost Magnus. Forever.

But to let Valentine slip away now would be the highest insult to Magnus' memory. 

Ignoring Izzy's worried look, and the sight of Ragnor and Catarina gently embracing their friend, Alec turned away. He gazed out across the open valley plains.

"I'm ready," he said.

Catarina didn’t look up as she snapped her fingers, summoning a portal for the group.

Alec didn't look back either. 

If he did, he’d stay. He would abandon duty and surrender to the aching gap in his bruised heart. He would sit with Ragnor and Catarina and grieve. 

Slowly, and safely, Alec's duties wrapped around him, cloaking him with purpose once more. The heart that he'd freely given away was back inside his chest. It had been broken without question, but it was working enough to fight for another day. 

His own will was insignificant. Alec  _had_ to fight, if not yet for himself, but for others.

He was not alone.

Still, as the portal surrounded them, and the dizzying haze of it began to work its magic, Alec closed his eyes and saw Magnus’ last smile imprinted forever behind his eyelids. The soft, sadness in it was like a scar, and Alec would wear it with pride, would let it be behind his every sword swing and princely duty.

From then on, Magnus would be within his heart, and rule the kingdom from within Alec's soul.

He'd be alive.

The prince closed his eyes, the island disappearing.

The lie had been just enough for Alec to leave Magnus behind.

~

"Jace!"

As soon as the word fled from Alec's lips, he longed to take them back.

They distracted his friend, and right then, Jace needed focus. 

And Alec had gone and torn it from him.

When the portal brought them to the centre of the valley's grassy plain, they'd blinked, glancing around. Instantly, they caught sight of the unfolding scene:

Jace, and Robert, engaged in a close-combat fight with Valentine and the sorcerer he'd fled Alicante with.

"Alec?"

His friend glanced up, startled by the sound of the prince's voice. Alec regretted it in a heartbeat. Fortunately, Jace regained his concentration and dodged Valentine's lunging strike, stepping out of the way just in time.

The close call was enough to jolt Alec into action.

He exchanged a quick glance with Izzy, nodded, and then jumped into the fight without another second's thought. He only had a second to notice Luke transforming, and Clary's sword unsheathing. The pair commanded the attention of the sorcerer, separating him from Valentine, giving Alec and Isabelle the chance to bring up the numbers.

As Luke and Clary distracted the sorcerer, the others took on Valentine.

To his credit, the man was an excellent swordsman. He was fast and agile, quick-thinking in his attacks. Although they had the advantage of numbers, Valentine could swing around in a circle, keeping them at bay. He used space wisely, eyes narrowed in concentration. 

But he was up against angry and grieving warriors.

He was up against a prince who'd left his heart behind on Alicante, who no longer had room for mercy and hesitation.

Alec was faced with death, and greeted it with a sharp, malicious smile. 

"Alec, _no!"_

His father noticed the bloodthirsty look on his son's face, and just as Alec was about to throw himself forwards, Robert shoved him aside with a sharp elbow to the gut. Winded, Alec bent over, coughing. 

In this time, Valentine made his final move. No longer bound by caution, he accepted his fate. There was spiteful victory in his surrender. He lunged forwards, his arm thrusting upwards. His sword pierced through Robert's chest, the king gasping as the blade cut into his breast. Although he'd tried to step aside, Valentine had been too quick, and the sword that stabbed into the king had aimed true. Just as he'd suspected, Isabelle hadn't missed the opportunity to lunge either. He might've harmed the king, but he'd left his right side entirely open. Izzy's aim had been just as true, and her blade slid between Valentine's ribs.

The ex-lord still laughed, even as the blood dyed the fabric of his shirt with scarlet. He fell to his knees, still grinning up at Robert. The king had managed to stand upright, and Alec gained enough breath to support his injured father.

"Father," Alec whispered, gruff from the winding. The king had been protecting him, pushing him aside, but now he was gasping, firmly pressing his hands to his chest wound. 

"Alec, it's okay, it's..."

Robert was cut off, blood bubbling out of his lips. He gasped again, and leaned heavily against Alec, who stumbled back. His vision was starting to blur, but he didn't know if this was from the shock, or the exhaustion. 

Two figures approached, and Alec felt gratitude wash over him as steady hands assisted the king. Will and Jem had appeared just in time, holding Robert between them, carefully supporting him. The two knights gestured, gaining the attention of a nearby warlock. 

"We'll take him to the tents, Alec," Will promised. His cheek was scratched, a thin, bloody line, but his eyes shone with strength. His friend gripped his arm, another silent vow in the embrace. Jem nodded, his hands pressed firmly against Robert's wound. 

"Go," Alec said. If he had the energy, he'd cry, or offer to go with them, but as he turned to face the fallen Valentine, who was still looking smug, Alec knew this was something he needed to see through to the end.

In the next second, the portal had opened, and Will and Jem had carried Robert through it, taking them up over the hill.

The silence that followed was almost hungry. It yearned for emotion, but no one seemed to have any left to give. 

Isabelle's sword had fallen to the floor, and she was leaning against Clary as the pair stood before Valentine. Alec walked over to join them, wiping his sword slowly against the grass. He wanted his blade to be clean for what came next. He wanted Valentine's blood to be the final death of this battle.

_No more,_ Alec promised. _No more bodies. No more death._

As if sensing the final moments approaching, Valentine lifted his chin. "I was going to save the kingdom," he snapped. He was bleeding heavily, his face paling, but his hostility remained. "You are all blinded by the ones around you. You can't see the dangers of them." Valentine turned his head turned to Luke, and then Luciana. “Downworlders will always turn on you, will always succumb to their nature-“

“And yours is better?” Clary demanded. “Slaughtering others, and leading with hate?" She shook her head, her hair spilling out across her shoulder like cascades of fire. "You’re the one who is blinded.”

Valentine looked at her, his expression odd. “Clarissa, you-“

“Don’t call me that,” Clary hissed, fury curling her lip. She snarled the words like poison. Valentine’s smile faded a little.

“Enough of this.”

Alec wanted this over with. He stood before Valentine, placing the blade of his sword against the man's throat. “Have you made your peace?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Although Valentine didn't deserve a final moment, Alec had to offer it. He wouldn't degrade his values for the sake of a bastard like Valentine Morgenstern. 

The ex-lord frowned. “You’re bound by the law," he said. "I will have a trial.”

When everyone was silent, Alec decided to take the lead again.

“No, you won’t," he said flatly. "You forget yourself. I'm the prince of Idris, and the king himself is here, and he is...indisposed, therefore I’m in charge.” Alec met his gaze and held it. “There is no way out of this. You are going to die." He gave Valentine a few moments to process this, and when his smile faded, Alec felt a bitter pleasure twist inside his chest. 

Alec dug the sword in a little more. "So, I ask you again; have you made your peace?”

Valentine was silent. There was no pity or regret in his face, and if he felt any at all, Alec knew it was for all the wrong reasons.

Slowly, Alec lifted the sword up, holding it there. The blade caught the sun's light, the rays showering the valley with warm spots of amber. 

_Amber. Amber eyes, Magnus-_

"So," Alec said, loudly, to silence his own thoughts, "Valentine Morgenstern, you are charged with treason against the Crown, and for the murder of countless of lives, innocent downworlders and mortals alike.” Alec paused, letting the others standing around nod, one by one. When they had all agreed, Alec continued. “Your death will be swift,” he promised. He leaned down and said, into his ear, “I hear that hellfire burns cold. Perhaps you will learn just how unforgiving downworlders can be when you’re down there. Explain how you slaughtered their sons and daughters."

Taking a deep breath, Alec waited until Valentine had taken in his words. 

He was seconds from making the kill, when the prince felt himself freeze. He suddenly paused, catching sight of Clary’s expression. The fury in the girl's eyes was a storm that moved Alec to her side. When she frowned, her cloudy eyes meeting his, Alec held out the sword.

“This isn’t my decision,” he said, realising it then. “It’s yours.”

He held the hilt out to her, and tried to smile, but his mouth was dry and he had little energy to tug one out of it.

But it was the right choice, Alec knew this. Part of being a king was knowing when to hand over the power, when to accept that revenge was not just a single entity. It belonged to many, and all. But as of now, it belonged to Clary, whose father had tormented and fractured her life into broken memories. He had stolen many years, and kept her apart from her true family. He had been about to throw away her future too.

If anyone was to send Valentine to hell, it would be his vindictive daughter.

Alec waited. If Clary refused, he'd make the kill himself. It would be his burden to bear. He had no problem with that.

Clary's expression hardened. She nodded.

Taking the sword, her hands didn't shake in the slightest. She stood before her kneeling father, gripping the blade tightly. 

Valentine spoke up again. "Your brother died for this, Clarissa. For _nothing,"_ he hissed. _"_ You can change that." It was desperate, and no one reacted, but there was heated anger in his words. 

Clary closed her eyes, shaking her head. “No. _You_ killed him," she snapped. "You started this with a war. You killed their brother too,” she said, a trembling finger pointing between Isabelle and Alec. “And so many others. You won’t stop. You’ll never let downworlders be at peace. You made an error in judgement, father.” She said it coldly, and Alec knew it would be the last time she spoke the word out loud. “Forgiveness isn’t in me.”

Clary didn't hesitate. When she stepped forwards, the sword cut clean through Valentine’s heart, protruding from the other side.

“This is for my family,” she said, the blade stabbing neatly through Valentine’s chest. A croaking gasp flew from his lips. He tilted forwards, but Clary held him upright with the heel of her hand. She wore nothing but vengeful passion in her expression, and said, “Goodbye, father.”

There had been no hesitation, or fear. She had aimed true, and the man fell.

Valentine, at last, was dead.

It was like listening to a bucket break against the marble flooring of a well. As soon as the man fell, Alec’s legs gave out. The events of the day caught up to him again, and although Jace was there to hold him upright, and clung to him tightly, Alec felt his vision start to blur. Was it because of the tears? Or had his soul surrendered to exhaustion, welcoming the bliss of the darkness, of forgetting for just a few long moments?

Whatever it was, Alec let it greet him. He welcomed it and shook hands with the dizziness. It refused to let go, and despite faintly hearing Jace’s protesting cries, somewhere off in the distance, Alec let his body grow limp.

Perhaps if he fell far enough, he could find Magnus’ soul. He could tear at the earth with his hands until he located a place where time and space could not separate them.

_Wait for me,_ Alec wanted to say.

His eyes closed. The last thing he remembered seeing was a dark shape, and a dragon’s wing, beat against the brilliant blue of the sky as it fled to freedom.

~

Tessa had felt the change.

Something shone across the valley, a single, golden wave of light.

After that, the wounded had come in waves. She'd been kept busy throughout the battle, helping warlocks and healers alike as injured fighters came in. Some were easier to heal, and send off again, but others refused to wake up. 

She sensed that the battle was over, but the fight for survival was only now beginning. She helped to hold down men and women, helped pour potions down their throats, or give them something to bite on for the pain. 

It was slowing down now, but her heartbeat was racing.

Guilt pricked her heart. She was grateful that she hadn't seen Will or Jem in the tents, but did that make her a terrible person?

She was surrounded by the wounded, but here she was, praying for only two.

The scent of blood refused to be washed away by water, no matter how many times she gulped desperately from the silver jugs scattered about the tent’s space.

A whooshing sound disrupted her thoughts.

A portal pulsed in the corner, announcing the appearance of another injured person. When she glanced up, preparing for whatever wound needed treating, Tessa gasped. A familiar head of silver hair, and dark curls, leaped from the portal and into the tent. She raked her eyes quickly over the pair, but Will and Jem seemed unharmed. 

And then she noticed who they carried between them. 

"Your Majesty," Tessa gasped, rushing forwards. Thankfully, three other healers, two warlocks, and one villager, had noticed the king's arrival too. They took over, thanking the two knights briefly before leading the king away. Will carried the king's sword, following the others. They hurried Robert into another section-off part of the tent.

When the noise and activity had died down again, Tessa found herself stunned. She was left to stare at Jem, the pair now alone in the space. 

"You're alive," she whispered. 

Jem's eyes widened. His lips parted, perhaps to speak, or sigh, but no sound came out. He nodded, a strand of silver hair falling into his beautiful eyes.

It was his hesitation that moved Tessa into action.

Crossing over to him in long strides, Tessa throws her arms around him, tilting her head and kissing Jem before she could accept the dozens of reasons why it was so improper. In a heartbeat, Jem had his arms around her waist, kissing her with surprising intensity. The gentle, firm grip around her waist reminded Tessa of watching Jem play the viol, only now he was focusing his concentration, and passion, on her. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

They kissed once more, before pulling back. Jem's pupils were dilated and widened, and Tessa stayed close, breaths mingling.

Someone cleared their throat, off to the right.

Tessa blinked, turning, still in Jem's embrace. She found Will coming back from the sectioned-off part of the tent, smiling softly at the pair. 

"I’d say I was surprised, but…” Will’s voice was a tired, but dry tease, as he made his way over to them. If she'd expected him to be hurt, or angry, Tessa was surprised. The knight was smiling, and it was a kind one. He looked between Tessa and Jem as he tentatively stepped closer.

“Will, I…”

How could she explain her heart’s decision?

How would it seem fair to reveal that she considered them both the two knights of her soul?

To her surprise, Will simply smiled. It was the gentlest one she’d seen him give. He was standing close. Reaching out with a hand, he cupped the back of Jem’s neck, resting their foreheads together. Will leaned in, almost shyly at first. The softness in the gasp that parted from Jem’s lips was almost as sweet as the music he played. He kissed Will back, with the same tender heat that he’d given Tessa moments before. She felt no shame in standing with them, in being a part of the moment. Jem was holding her waist still, hand by her hip, and Will was clutching her other hand.

When he pulled away, Will kept his head against Jem’s, and simply turned it a fraction. He gazed at Tessa with a kind of stripped honesty.

“Now you know,” Will said. “Now you know that my heart belongs to the both of you.”

The caged creature in her heart was finally free. She smiled in understanding, her heart a mirror to what Will had described. With the coolness of steel, and the warmth of a new love, she was at peace. The three of them took comfort from each other's presence. 

After a minute of standing together, Will sighed. “The king might not make it,” he revealed, his words catching in his throat.

Tessa blinked back the tears. She felt helpless, but also guiltily relieved that the two parts of her heart were safe, were alive, and with her. The fine line between fear and hope was tilting, and she longed to dive towards the latter. Instead, she embraced Jem and Will again, before pulling back.

“Come on,” she softly invited. “We’ll be needed.”

“We always are,” Will said, lips tugging into a tired smile.

“The burden of those who survive cannot be lifted,” Jem said. “We mourn our friends, and save those who cling to life. We live,” Jem said, fierce gentleness lighting up a path inside Tessa’s heart. She let it guide her, and nodded in response.

“Then let us be brave,” she said.

They lifted their chins, tightened their cloths, and prepared for the work ahead; alive, tired, but ready to help.

~

Isabelle was adrift. 

Ever since Alec had passed out, and they'd settled him in a free tent to rest, the princess had felt absent. Her mind was focused, but her thoughts kept circling back.

They'd won. Hadn't they?

For now, she stayed by Clary's side, sensing that the girl needed company just as much as Izzy did. They assisted with organising the portals to Idris. It was the only thing they could do: help. They were alive, and unharmed. Others were not so fortunate. 

They wanted to return immediately to Idris, where more healers were, but there were many tents to unfold, and some of the injured had to be subdued.  

The last news she'd heard about her father was that the king was in an unstable condition. 

Isabelle’s hands were shaking. She paced across the hill, Clary watching her with an intense focus. “Alec just lost Magnus, and they were going to rule together, and sh-shape a new era, and we all believed it would be okay, like fools,” Izzy hissed the word, the remorse twisting into her gut.

She saw her youthful nativity as a childish thing now. It was once the hope she had clung to, but now, in the aftermath of a war that had cracked hearts and ground in equal measure, she detested it. She hated the small smiles being offered to her. Clary offered her neither a kind word, nor a false prayer. On some level, Izzy registered this as the only thing keeping her upright. Clary was standing close by, but she didn’t offer a sympathetic word, or try to touch her. She just _stayed_.

And it was all Isabelle hadn’t known she needed; someone to stay, to be there when the weaker, torn parts of her soul were on display.

Her father was dying. Alec was about to be crowned king, whether or not he was ready, and Isabelle was unable to find their victory one that was worth it. For now, she was selfishly consumed by inner loss.

The kingdom would still thrive, and grow, because of their sacrifices. Because of this battle, there would be less bloodshed and suffering.

But for now, all Izzy felt was loss and anger.

She had changed into a simple black tunic, the dark gray breeches so clean and fresh and soft in comparison to the cries and wounded scattered about.

With a sigh, she sat down on the nearest bench. She was halfway through plucking furiously at a single thread, when Clary’s came over to join her. Her hand reached out and covered Isabelle's knee. Clary's hand was smaller and hesitant, but as soon as she touched Isabelle, Izzy felt it shield her more than any armour had ever done.

Isabelle gripped her hand tightly, slipping her fingers between Clary’s, and holding on. She leaned in, head resting against the delicate crook of Clary’s collarbone. Still, the girl said nothing, and at that, Isabelle almost smiled. Almost. The valley was just as quiet and unmoving, recovering alongside their people.

All of a sudden, a figure stumbled from one of the last tents left standing. He was followed by a protesting cry, and then another rushing figure.

“Alec!”

Jace tore from the tent, reaching out for the prince.

“Alec, please, come back and rest, you can…”

Isabelle shot to her feet. She rushed over to Alec, and Jace, who had appeared to grab Alec’s shoulders and keep him from running off.

“Alec, you’re…”

Izzy trailed off. What was she about to say? _Awake?_ That much was obvious. _Uninjured_? That was insane. He might not be coated in bandages, or gulping down herbs and medicine, but her brother's eyes were red, puffy and hooded. His lips were cracked and sore. The slump in his shoulders gave him the appearance of a weary traveller, and Isabelle supposed that this was true.

Alec had journeyed to find his heart, and returned without one.

“Alec,” Isabelle murmured. Without giving herself another moment to hesitate, she hugged him. She ignored that it felt like trying to coax life from a statue. But this was her brother, and he was hurting, and Izzy could do little more than offer him an embrace.

He suddenly stiffened. For one, painfully hopeful moment, Isabelle thought she might be getting through to him. She imagined that Alec would wrap his arms around her waist, and cry against her shoulder. To comfort someone who had always been so strong for her was a burden she was willing to carry. She would do that, for Alec. 

Instead, Alec straightened, his eyes widening in surprise. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and that ghost was-

Isabelle turned to follow the source of his reaction.

When she spotted two figures coming closer, sharing the weight of Magnus Bane in their arms, Isabelle felt as sorrowful as Catarina and Ragnor looked. The portal closed behind them, and Izzy winced. The brightness faded, and a quiet sort of tension grew afterwards. 

Some instinctive, protective part of her took over. Izzy stepped in front of Alec, ignoring her brain’s tormented reminder that he could still see overhead. She placed an arm out behind her, and said to Jace, “Take him away.”

Jace nodded, tearing his eyes away from their fallen friend long enough to plead with Alec. “Buddy, please,” he softly said. “Don’t look. The best thing you can do right now is rest. Please-“

“Be quiet.”

Alec croaked out the words, but the flat anger swept over Isabelle with a cold shiver. He didn't look away from Magnus. 

Jace stilled, blinking in surprise. Still, his hand clasped Alec’s forearm, and he tried again. “Alec, please, you don’t have to do this to yourself. Stop making it worse.”

“Damn you, how can it be worse? He’s _dead_ , Jace.”

The blunt honesty of Alec’s words carried across the valley. It reached Cat and Ragnor, because when they approached, their expressions had hardened. Their pain was hidden behind a terrible sort of passiveness, and Izzy recognised it as the walls that Magnus had once spoke about. How many bodies had they buried? How many lives had they seen be discarded?

“Where can we lay him?” Ragnor quietly asked. Isabelle noticed that he hadn’t managed to meet Alec’s eye, like if Ragnor saw the same pain that he felt reflected in the prince’s gaze, he would submit to the heartbreak. The other warlock waited patiently.

A small white rose was still slotted into the neckline of Magnus' tunic.

_Who put that there?_ Izzy wondered. She'd not asked before. Why hadn't she asked? Guilt crippled her words, and she wrapped an arm around her torso.

As Ragnor shifted, Isabelle saw it unfold before it happened. She felt the finality of it, the axis tipping.

One moment, the flower was tucked safely in the tunic, and in the next, it was tumbling from Magnus’ unmoving figure.

_“No.”_

Before it hit the floor, Alec was lunging, falling to his knees as he extended his palms. Izzy winced, knowing that the sharp rocks on the hill were digging into Alec’s thin breaches, no doubt tearing and drawing blood. However, the distracted prince didn’t make a sound. He, and the others, simply watched as the flower fell into his waiting hands.

He looked tragically young as he gingerly touched one of the petals. Alec smiled, a sad, small sight. It was a few moments later when he gently slipped the flower into the folds of his own tunic, keeping it safe. 

_Perhaps_ , Isabelle thought, _he was pretending it was his second chance to save Magnus._

Realising that the silence was waiting for him, Alec inhaled, slowly.

When he opened his mouth to speak, Isabelle saw that he was gripping his shaking hand. “Take Mag-“

Alec broke off, the name far too real.

“Please…take him home.”

Catarina’s kind eyes sought out the prince’s. “Where is home, Alec?” she asked. Her tears fell in silence, and it pained Izzy to realise that she must’ve grown used to quietly crying and dealing with loss. Tenderness warmed the warlock’s expression, as she paused to study her friend’s face. After a second or two, she looked up again. “He wouldn’t want us to bury him by Ash Tower,” Catarina said. “That was just one of his many places.”

Ragnor nodded in agreement. “Magnus always found home in other people, in the love that he should’ve always been given.” Anger clouded in his eyes, and then it was gone, the grief too heavy to weaken. “He found home in you,” Ragnor finished, looking across at the crestfallen prince.

“I know,” Alec softly said. The anger was gone now. He reached for the flower again, as though touching it was embracing a part of Magnus that wasn’t yet gone forever. His voice was gruff with weariness and sorrow. It wasn’t a throbbing sadness. It was a growing ache that would consume him, unless he let others share the burden.

Isabelle knew what her brother would do. She didn’t see another option. Alec would carry on, out of loyalty and duty, but also out of love for Magnus. He would not let him die in vain, and it was the truth of this that suddenly came alive, fiercely, brightly and untouchable.

Alec nodded. “The tent behind me. Place him there. And..stay as long as you want to.”

“That’s the royal tent…”

Catarina’s voice broke away, the surprise evident in her wide eyes. When no one questioned the prince’s invitation, she and Ragnor began to head for it, carrying Magnus still.

Isabelle knew why she'd hesitated. Letting anyone else inside the royal tent, and especially a fallen warlock, a downworlder, was almost unspeakable. And yet it spoke volumes. It was respect and honour and it was all Alec could give the three of them. It was claiming Magnus’ importance and value; daring anyone in the entire kingdom to say otherwise.

In another time and place, Isabelle would have smiled. Pride warmed her aching chest, and again, she slipped her hand into Clary’s. Only, Alec’s head turned, and before he could see their embrace, Izzy had freed her hand again. She would not flounce her love before her brother. That was a cruelty that was unbearable.

“We head for Idris in an hour,” Alec said. “Say your goodbyes.”

He turned, back rigid, leaving without his own goodbye.

~

Raphael was sitting by Simon’s bed. The boy would be rushed to the healers in Idris as soon as he was stable enough.

As he sat with Isabelle and Clary, the knight felt all hope leave him. Simon’s eyes were covered with a thick bandage, and although it was spotless and white, Raphael’s mind played tricks on him. It made him see thick, scarlet tears falling from Simon’s eyes. He feared that any second, the boy would tremble, before falling completely still.

The assigned healer, the Guild warlock, Isaac, was gentle as he handled their persistent questions and worried looks.

“He will live,” Isaac promised, "but whether or not his sight will return is unpredictable. Magic can heal muscle, but it cannot create it. His eyes were very badly damaged. When he awakes, we will know how to proceed. For now, his body needs rest." He folded his hands in front of his lap. "You can simply be here for him when he wakes.”

But for Raphael, the waiting was the worst. He had already said goodbye to a few fallen men in his army, had given the sign for their bodies to be covered, and portaled to Idris, where their families would mourn and prepare for the service.

There would be a mass service held in Idris when everyone had returned. It was custom for knights to be led through the town and villages, before coming to the castle, having earned their respect.

Raphael had not been surprised to hear that the tradition was changing.

The news spread around the camp fairly quickly: the prince had changed the law.

Alec’s new decree was stating that everyone who fought, whether they were a downworlder, mortal, lord or villager, would be a part of the service. They had all fought as one, and would be mourned as one people, without rank or station dividing them.

If he had the energy, Raphael would smile. The borders between their people were falling, but it was the best kind of change. He was ready to stand beside his prince, and believe that the tradition was changing for the good of all.

The fight had come to a conclusion, but Raphael knew that there would be more to come. Unity was earned, not stolen in a single day. Alec had everyone turning their heads towards him, but he had to keep their interest, keep their faiths and spirits raised.

_But he’s not alone,_ Raphael thought. Looking around, he saw warlocks assisting knights, and knights helping warlocks with bandaged arms to eat. He saw villagers being treated with respect, and werewolves and faeries approaching another with clean towels and bowls.

Everyone who had stayed was loyal to Alec, loyal to the values he was fighting for.

Raphael turned back to Simon, and found himself, despite everything, smiling. The boy laying on the bed would've offered him words of comfort, or a grin of his own. Simon would approach the situation with courage and kindness, if their positions were reversed. Raphael knew he would try to do the same.

Clary was stroking across the back of his hand. “I thought I lost him. Again. I was torn from his world when we were children,” she quietly explained. “All of our lives would be a little less full without Simon. He’s joy itself.”

Raphael swallowed, emotion tightening his throat. He nodded, hoping that the girls wouldn’t press for more. They didn’t, and after a few more minutes, Isabelle and Clary climbed to their feet and quietly excused themselves.

Raphael cupped Simon's cheek, refusing to note the terrified trembling in his fingertips.

“I found my way back,” Raphael told him. “Now you have to do the same.”

For a brief moment, Simon’s hand tightened around his, as if to answer: _yes, I’m here. I’m fighting._

Raphael rested his head against the bed, eyes never once looking away from the rise and fall of Simon’s chest.

He eventually fell asleep, but he did not let go of Simon's hand.

_Joy itself,_ Raphael thought.

_I cannot live without joy._

_~_

They were ready to leave for Idris, but Alec still felt that appetite to remain there forever, to cradle the valley to his chest like a war wound.

And in a way, it was. This was a wound he'd carry forever. 

He didn’t want to move on. Moving meant returning to a kingdom where he couldn't walk the halls with Magnus. Leaving the valley was accepting his death, accepting that there really was no way forwards that didn’t involve preparing to say goodbye in the memorial service.

Alec realised then that he was back at the beginning: afraid, alone and locking his heart away.

The Guild had prepared a series of portals, switching with rotations to keep their magic from waning. It was fortunate that most had, at some point in their long lives, set foot in or close to the Lightwood Castle. Upon arrival, the priorities would be healing their wounded, and preparing the memorial ceremony.

_My father-_

Alec knew the king was gravely injured. Likely, fatally wounded. He would at least find comfort in returning home for his last night-

The prince inhaled sharply. He forced the gates down in his mind, shutting off any unhelpful thoughts. 

He was already preparing for the furious words his mother would say. Something along the lines of:

_“You wish to march downworlders through my towns?”_

_“You would dishonour your people so?”_

_“Divides are there for a reason, Alec.”_

_"Your father is dying, do not disrespect his memory."_

_“Don’t be a fool.”_

Alec didn’t care. If there was anything he could focus on right then, it was that the decision was final. Villagers and downworlders and knights would all be carried through and given the respect they’d earned by fighting. It was a sign of unity that Alec was intent on maintaining in the dark times.

Going back to how it was before, to division and a sheltered life, was impossible. Alec was closer than ever to becoming the king he’d promised his people. What good would it do now to bow out, to recoil from change and return with slumped shoulders to the castle?

The silence was brutal. Alec missed coy smiles and snapping fingers and swaying shoulders. He missed the comfort of love. He grieved in heavy solitude, the weight of it harsher than any crown would feel.

_I miss you, Magnus._

_Already, I miss you unbearably._

Had it really only been that morning that he'd woken to the warmth of Magnus' arm around his torso?

Flashes of their night together tore across Alec's mind. He quickly closed his eyes, willing them away. He couldn't bear that. Not now. Maybe not ever. To imagine holding Magnus, and being held, meant accepting that it was in the _past_. 

He'd never touch Magnus with gentle intimacy again. He'd never kiss the sensitive spot behind his ear, or trace the curve of his hipbones, and smile contently at his pleased sighs.

_Stop. Just...stop. Please._

Alec looked out, surveying the last remainder of the encampment. Many of his friends and family had approached him, from a place of love, duty, or both. He had seen to their questions as quickly as possible, but nothing more than that. Comfort would have to wait. The prince was all too aware that with an injured king returning to the castle, the future was an open page. To show weakness now would destroy them all.

Everyone looked to Alec now, to the future they implored to show freedom, and hope.

Yet he felt none.

Somewhere, hidden amongst the grief, was a slither of good fortune, of optimism. Now, because of them, Idris was free from Valentine’s threats, from the darkness that the Cup could bring in the wrong hands. The quest, in a sad, ironic way, had been completed: Alec had proven himself to be willing to give his all to the kingdom.

Knowing what he did now, was it all worthwhile?

These were the questions that haunted him as he reluctantly prepared to leave. Over half of their people were already returning home, figures slipping through the portals with nervous smiles and tear-stained cheeks. Friends held hands, and others simply nodded. There was an air of excitement, hope and crushingly strong fear as well.

They would return with good, and terrible news. Alec knew that the messy web would unfurl in a thousand, complex threads.

Isabelle suddenly appeared by his side, giving him a tentative smile. They faced their portal together, the magic giving off a gentle light. She didn’t say anything, but Alec felt the warmth in her hand as she slipped it into his own.

What had he said to Magnus? 

He suddenly remembered it, and it stung terribly.

_“We’ll have other nights together....I can promise you that.”_

_No,_ he thought sadly. _We won't._

Alec thought for a long moment, and then abandoned his own misery, allowing himself to hold his sister’s hand.

They stepped into the portal, and back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury summary: Lydia - armless, Simon - blinded, Robert - stabbed, hearts - broken.  
> Welp.  
> But, bad jokes aside, I did want the battle to be realistic. If no one gets injured in a big fight, then that's kind of dumb, in my opinion, so I hope it was done realistically, and not over the top.  
> VAL IS DEAD THOUGH. (yay).  
> What did you think? *awkwardly jazz hands as she waits*.  
> Part two will hopefully be posted soon, and it's a long one! See you then! ;)  
> Twitter - @clockworkswan96.  
> tumblr - clockworkswans.


	20. I'll Be Back Before The Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a shorter time between updates!  
> I had this mostly written when I uploaded chapter 19, so I worked on it until it was as perfect as i was going to get. I hope you enjoy :)  
> Fic playlist - https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> Twitter - @clockworkswan96, and tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Without spoiling anything....happy reading!  
> Also this song suits the last two scenes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Bh6IL1mNfc

“I thought it would…I don’t know, feel different.”

Isabelle nods. “Yeah," she agrees.

“It still looks the same.”

It was true: the warm gray stone and elegant towers of Lightwood Castle greeted them as though nothing had changed. Evergreen moss still clung to the outer wall. The front gate was as tall and midnight-black as Alec recalled it.

The guards posted outside were already pulling at the portcullis. After a moment, it began to rise, letting the people gathered outside the gate into the inner courtyards.

Noise scattered about. Returning fighters rushed down to their homes in the villages, or in the inner-wall market huts. People raced back to join with their friends and family.

Alec was pleased, albeit tired, to hear that the happy cheers and laughter were louder than the quiet sobs and crestfallen faces.

He stalked towards the gate, solely focused on doing his duty. The people parted without needing a word.

Alec wondered if his grief was stitched into his expression. Or was he wearing it like a scar? Did it follow him like a spirit?

The guards stepped to the side, nodded in respect, and waved Alec through, past the gathering people and healers. The wounded were being helped by the castle healers now, and Alec quickly made sure that the volunteering warlocks were not being belittled or mistreated. Fortunately, they were being welcomed with ease.

Moreover, Alec caught a brief glimpse of two familiar faces. Teva and Willow, the two warlocks they had met once in passing on their journey, met his haunted look from across the courtyard. They gave a little bow, and Alec found him returning it.

The quiet memory of words previously spoken came back to him, all of a sudden:

_“Being immortal doesn’t make you live forever. It’s important that you remember that. Don’t let your own fears ruin the time you have together. A year spent in love is better than a lifetime of half-living.”_

Alec closed his eyes, again feeling the brunt of truth like a blade to the gut. Willow's words meant even more now. Alec couldn’t change the past, but he could stop seeing it as a cruel thing. Willow had been right then, and she was right now. A year spent loving _was_ better than a lifetime of half-living.

Soon, Alec would try to remember that, but he needed more time to mourn.

He settled for a friendly smile, and hoped it wasn’t tainted with bitterness. He turned away, once again joining Isabelle – who had patiently waited for him by the door – as they headed inside.

It was strange, entering the castle like this. There was no fanfare or banners, no stomping of horse hooves. They were not flanked on all sides, although Alec knew that somewhere, his friends would be following him, and keeping him safe. Funnily enough, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of silver hair, and blonde in the other, and part of him wanted nothing more than to smile at Jem and Jace’s protection.

They kept their distance, and this only made Alec’s heart clench even more. They knew he needed space, and they were giving it to him, while still protecting him.

_What have I done to earn such unwavering loyalty? The man I love is dead, and the kingdom could easily still remain as broken as it was before._

_Why do they follow me still?_

Quietly, Alec's mind answered: _because they love you._

The siblings made their way for the Great Hall, hoping to find their mother. Alec hastily shelved any sad thoughts for later. He needed to concentrate. Each step he took, and each move he next made, would be the start of a long game. And he was determined to win it, if not for himself, but for the others who had sacrificed so much to get him to this very moment.

They reached the double doors, and the guards pushed them open, revealing the throne room inside.

Alec and Izzy were accustomed to the room before them: familiar marble pillars, rich reds and an arching ceiling with elegantly painted art decorating it.

They were equally familiar with the woman sitting on the throne. 

Maryse was as still as a statue. Even from afar, her expression was visibly worried. The queen sat without her usual air of authority. Her shoulders were slumped as she looked down, at what appeared to be a small cloth. She cradled it carefully in her hands. 

Shock washed over Alec as he placed it in his mind. It was the familiar crest woven into a handkerchief, the gift she'd given all her children when they were born. Alec hadn’t seen it in years. He wondered if Isabelle even knew where hers was.

But his mother held it carefully, like it was worth a thousand gold coins. 

The clanging doors announced their presence. 

Maryse quickly turned her gaze towards them. She paused, frozen in surprise, and then returned to the present. She hastily placed it in the folds of her gown, concealing it, and her emotions, behind a wall of sorts. 

She came towards them, stepping down from the raised dais platform.

“Oh,” was all the queen said. But she said it tenderly, which settled inside Alec's chest like an embrace. Her eyes never left theirs, and she hurried across the room. 

Isabelle had a hand cradling her elbow. She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Hi, mom," she said quietly.

Hearing her daughter’s voice seemed to spark life into Maryse. Her heels snapped against the marble, and after another second, she was standing before them.

Alec was too heavy-hearted to be surprised by the display of emotion. He just smiled. Or tried to.

Maryse wrapped a hand around each of her children, pulling them towards her in an embrace. It was unusually tender. The usual commanding energy she wore like armour was traded in for a small smile. She allowed herself a surprising amount of time, just to stay like that, with her arms holding her children close to her.

“You’re safe,” Maryse said. When she eventually pulled back, there was a question in her worried eyes.

Isabelle swallowed before nodding. “We are,” she quietly agreed, holding her mom’s hand while she explained. “But…there were complications.”

Maryse’s face visibly paled. “Jace?” she whispered. She looked towards the door, as though expecting to see Jace's body being carried in-

“No,” Alec suddenly said. He was surprised that he’d reacted so forcefully, but imagining anything happening to Jace, at this point, was beyond Alec’s capability. If he lost his best friend, among all the other grief and heartache, Alec felt that he’d just collapse entirely.

The queen narrowed her eyes. “Then…?”

Isabelle slipped her arm through Maryse's. Giving a gentle tug, she led the queen over to the low, wooden bench near the wall. She beckoned for Alec to join, but he stayed standing. There was a finality to sitting. It meant the thoughts would catch up.

When Maryse was sitting beside her, Isabelle finally spoke again. She explained calmly, but left out no details, just like Maryse would want. Alec was proud. Sadly so. Because it meant that yet again, someone else was doing all the hard work. 

Once Izzy had explained the events on the island, she reached the outcome of the battle that would affect Maryse the most. It would, in fact, affect the all.

The queen was silent for a long moment. She nodded, half to herself. "And Robert...he didn't make it?"

His mom had scared him before, but this was something else. Alec was looking at a woman who was strong enough to ask straight-out if her husband was gone. He'd never admired, or feared her, as much as he did in that moment.  

Isabelle hesitated. Cautiously, she said, "I...he was badly wounded, mom." She glanced up at Alec, and then finished, "He’s with the healers now, but they’ll likely move him to his chambers…”

“Because there’s nothing else they can do,” Maryse concluded. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact. She smoothed out the skirt of her gown, fingers no longer shaking. “Very well,” she said, when almost a minute had passed in aching silence.

“Mom, it’s…”

Isabelle trailed off, and she glanced up towards Alec again. 

It struck Alec then that he was supposed to be able to offer words of comfort. His sister was doing all the difficult work, and he was still standing like a tree that refused to be uprooted.

He clenched his hands into fists. There. He'd moved, at least.

Alec focused his gaze on Maryse. “What can I do?” he asked. The abruptness of it was apparently what his mother needed. She stood up quickly, facing her son with a careful look. She was remembering something then. Alec watched it flash across her face. Just for a moment, she seemed to recall where he'd come from. Her palms were facing upwards, open and reaching, but Alec couldn't embrace her. Not again. 

He didn't want comfort. He needed duties. He needed focus. 

Maryse sensed his detachment. Her arms fell back to her sides. “You can summon an emergency council meeting," she told him, "and be beside me when I need you.”

Alec nodded.

The mother was gone, and the queen was back in her place. 

_Good,_ he thought. _We both need to be leaders now._

“Okay,” he said, nodding. For one awful second, the queen’s lip trembled, and Alec feared she might cry. But much like he was, Maryse kept it inside and adorned a shield against the mounting pain.

The queen rested a hand against Izzy's shoulder. "Isabelle, can I rely on you to keep up appearances? This kingdom needs guidance, not uncertainty," she said gravely. "Make yourself seen, and heard. Be with the people, and show them that we’re listening.”

With that, both women stood up. 

Isabelle nodded, determined as ever. “Of course,” she promised, tightening one of the straps on her leather gloves.

Before she left, half-turning towards the door, Isabelle paused. She lifted her eyes, not shying away from Alec's hard gaze this time. Instead of speaking, she simply smiled. It was one of Alec's favourite smiles; showcasing his sister's pride, love and bravery all at once. 

Finally, Alec's fists relaxed. 

"Go," he told her, but not unkindly. He tried to return the smile. "We’ll summon you when there’s news of father," he promised. "Come back for the council.”

“I’ll be there,” Isabelle said. She turned, and left, taking the little joy that Alec had left with her. 

As soon as his sister was gone, Maryse's demeanour shifted. Alec didn't see it, but he felt it. The mask was dropped, completely.

"How long do we have, Alec?" Maryse asked.

He didn't need to ask for clarification. He understood, perfectly. "A day. At most." He stared at a spot on the wall, just behind the queen's head. It was better than studying her reaction. “It depends on how long the king can…hold on.”

Maryse nodded. Again, it was a sub-conscious, safe gesture, one that she used as familiarity. Alec understood this. She was keeping a sense of the normal, even in the face of chaos and uncertainty. 

"And there is nothing that...magic can do?"

The word left her lips like a secret. She'd even lowered her voice.

Alec wasn't amused. He just felt sad. It was because of these attitudes towards magic that meant it was viewed as dangerous. 

"No," he said. Still angered, he carried on. “The wound pierced his heart, mother. Magic can heal, but it cannot recreate. It can knit wounds together, but it can’t regrow a heart that’s slowly stopping. He would need permanent attention; to keep the blood flowing correctly, to keep the heart pumping, and to keep resealing the hole-“

“Yes. I see. That’ll be all.” Maryse held up a hand, and Alec winced. He’d gone into a monotone explanation that ignored the hurt she must be feeling.

A smaller, darker part of him felt satisfaction.

And then, the guilt came. It came like a clap of thunder, burning him from the inside out.

It was one thing to mourn Magnus, it was another to take the remorse and channel it into anger, and cruel words.

He wouldn't do that again.  

“Mom,” Alec began again, softer this time. It wasn’t gentle at all, but it was quieter, and Alec knew it was the best he could offer. “When he passes on, we must start to strengthen our alliances. Show that the transition between kings will not affect the kingdom.”

This was the important part. A dying king was, unfortunately, normal. A weak heir was unforgivable.

Alec needed to begin the process of ruling. It started now. Not on his coronation, or afterwards, but now. Before.

Maryse levelled him with a steady look. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.

It surprised him; that she was open and listening, but Alec realised then that despite the grief wrecking his body, he was still the prince who had grown a great deal over the last months.

"During our travels, I saw many sides to the kingdom. I saw people mistreated, and lands torn apart by that. The Accords were made to keep the peace, but we didn't witness what horrors they caused, because they didn't affect us."

Maryse blinked slowly. She opened her mouth to say something - argue, no doubt - but Alec quickly carried on.

"As a king, I won't overlook my people's suffering. _Any_ of my people," he emphasised. "We are supposed to protect everyone, not isolate them. Downworlders are different from us, yes, but dividing everyone who is different will simply cause more wars, more bloodshed, and more people like Valentine. Ignorance caused this war, cost many people their lives."

"What are you suggesting?" Maryse interrupted. Alec was surprised she'd remained this quiet until now. The queen narrowed her eyes. "You're going to undermine everything we fought to achieve?"

"If by that, you mean form new alliances, and build a new age, then yes," Alec replied coolly. He kept his expression as calm as possible. "I'm going to be king, unless you decide to poison me in my sleep-"

"Alec," Maryse hissed, although it was more of a shocked gasp. Her eyes widened. "Why would I do that?"

Alec swallowed. Perhaps he'd lost himself to the anger again. Still, it didn't matter. He needed to find a way to make Maryse understand. He needed her, and trusted her judgements, when they weren't clouded by misplaced loyalty and bigotry. 

“What are your plans?” Maryse demanded.

Alec thought for a moment. “Firstly? I’ll seek an audience with the Seelie Queen-“

“You will do no such thing.”

Folding his arms behind his back to steady the shaking, Alec sighed. "Traditions change," he snapped. "No, they _have_ changed. I am no longer planning for my future as a king. That future is now, and it is happening with or without you." He met her head-on, unblinking stares and firmly pressed together lips. "Decide if you are with me or not. I’m done wasting my time trying to gain your approval. Father is dying-“

“I know that." Maryse lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the centre. She sighed, and something within her deflated. "I am trying to protect you," she said quietly, "and Isabelle, and Jace. I am a Queen and a mother, Alec. I understand the duties. Do you think I don't feel? Do you think I'm not torn apart because your father is dying, and I'm helplessly waiting for his son to lose the last of his innocence? I never wanted that for you.”

Alec snapped, "No, that’s why you sent me off into the Shadowlands." It was a low blow, but he dealt it anyway. "“To make a man out of me. To prove my worth.” God, it seemed so irrelevant now.

Maryse seemed to accept the losing battle. She sighed again, and rubbed slowly at her temples. After a pause, she glanced aside, towards the direction of the king's chambers. 

A short laugh fell from her lips, a surprised, and surrendering sigh. “I made him promise it, you know.”

Alec frowned. “What?”

“That he’d see our children safely returned.”

Her words stung with a sharp bite. Alec used them to remind himself why he was arguing. His father was dying because he'd been protecting Alec, because he'd been fighting for his children, and his people.

"He did," Alec managed to say without any heat or anger. He tried to soften his expression. After all, Maryse was losing the man who had always been beside her. Whether or not they were joined by love anymore was unimportant. Maryse and Robert had ruled a kingdom together. That kind of partnership didn't amount to nothing.

Maryse dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. She turned back to face Alec, the fight gone completely from her eyes.

“Now,” Maryse began, quieter, “I think you should decide tomorrow what to do. This kingdom needs its heir well-rested and at his best, and I,” Maryse added, cupping his cheek, “need my son to know that he did his best.”

It was the second time she'd touched him, but this time, Alec didn't want to flinch away.

He even smiled. “You don’t believe that," he muttered. 

Maryse's lips twitched. “Agreeing with your choices, and believing that they were the best ones, are different things,” Maryse said. There was almost a hint of motherly amusement in her eyes then. “I cannot fight with you tonight, Alec," she said.

Alec nodded in agreement. He really couldn’t bring himself to either.

As he reached the doors, Alec turned. He rested a hand against the golden frame, holding his mother's gaze. 

"I will form new alliances. I _will_ be meeting with the Seelie Queen," he said with conviction. "I swore on a blood promise, but even without it, I’d offer them a place on my council. There'll be a place for the Seelies, the other courts, werewolf pack leaders, and-" Alec took a deep breath, steeled himself against the pain, and added, “high warlocks.”

Sometime in the future, he would have to prepare himself for meeting more of Magnus’ old friends, and acquaintances. He would have to listen to stories, and tell them as well. One day, Alec hoped he could share tales and bring light to those who had missed out on Magnus’ final year, his final adventure.

For now, he let himself have this small victory. 

He smiled at Maryse, who had remained silent, her expression too neutral for Alec to puzzle over. 

“Goodnight, mom,” Alec said.

Still, as he turned to leave, the prince swore that Maryse was smiling.

~

Until today, Jace had never missed a council gathering.

He almost smiled to himself. _Bit of a lie._

Granted, that might be stretching the truth. He had missed a handful of meetings, but no one had known. Isabelle or Alec would cover for him, while he rode out to train one of the falcons, or simply to escape on a ride for a while. But he'd never bluntly refused to attend one before.

Today, he didn’t care. 

The only thing, the only one, who mattered, was Lydia.

Throughout the day, he had tried to follow his line of duty. He'd trailed Alec, protected the prince with care. By the afternoon, fatigue had been swept aside by concern, and when he could bear it no longer, Jace begged Will and Jem to replace his guard post. He then fled to the infirmary, already chewing his lip as he rushed to the woman he loved.

When he arrived, the spacious room wasn't as crowded as he'd feared it would be. Jace sighed, relieved. Nightmare vision of bloody walls and sheets were replaced by a calm environment. His mind relaxed. 

Rows of neat, white beds were organised to accommodate perhaps one hundred injured, most cradling arms, legs, or covered with bandages. Healers – both mortals, warlocks and faeries - occupied the infirmary, some standing and sharing quiet conversation, and others attending their patients. 

Someone caught Jace's eye. The familiar smile of Willow moved Jace closer, and then he glanced down. 

He'd recognise that head of blonde hair anywhere.

Willow was tending to Lydia with her husband, Teva, who was sitting beside the knight and placing a cloth against her forehead.

Jace hurried to her bedside. "How is she?" he asked. "Will she be alright? Please, I have to know, I..." The gnawing worry in his chest finally caught up with Jace. He gasped, pressing a fist to his sternum. He felt sheepish then, having not thanked the warlocks at all. 

They would understand, he hoped. They were also here because they cared. As were they all.

Jace tried to smile, but it was a weak one.

It was enough to wash away the surprised expression on Willow's face. She relaxed, beckoning with a hand. Her fingers curled into the air elegantly, like smoke. 

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself?” she invited softly. 

Taking a deep breath, Jace came around to the other side of the bed. Finally, when he was ready, he cast his eyes down to the bed.

The sleeping knight looked peaceful. The only sign of agitation came from the sweat across Lydia's upper lip. Other than that, the sheets crinkled as her chest rose and fell with ease. Her skin had lost the terrible gray-blueish tint that had haunted Jace all day.

His smile lost all of its uncertainty.

_You're going to be okay._

Under the low, amber candlelight – for it was almost evening now, and the outside light no longer shone in through the glass – Lydia’s beautiful face was soft. The sharp cheekbones were a little hollow, but otherwise, she was the same knight Jace had grown up, and fallen in love with.

"She'll need rest," Teva said quietly, "and time to get used to the loss, but she pulled through." 

Wordlessly, Jace reached out. He brushed a finger across the blonde hair spilling out against the pillow. Lydia's usual braid was gone, and had been twisted into a high bun that Jace knew she’d scowl at as soon as she woke.

Willow continued on after her husband, settling on the other side of the bed. "We had little trouble stopping the bleeding," she said, "and then it was simply a matter of assisting the body with regaining energy to create more. A little magic, and a little human thing called sheer, stubborn will.” Willow paused, and suddenly there was a hand resting against Jace’s back, as the warlock kindly added, “Come. Sit down. You look paler than she does, which is almost impossible.”

It was only as Jace sank into the chair, and his elbows fell heavily onto the bed, that he accepted how worn out he was. Part of him needed to cry, but another, stronger part, needed to rest. To summon anything other than a tiny smile of gratitude right then was impossible. Still, Jace tried. He glanced up at the two warlocks and fixed them with an imploring look.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “You saved her life. Thank you,” he repeated, unsure of what else to say. Hiding behind a mask of cocksure airs of grace was so easy. He had adorned that mask for many years. He'd only let a handful of those closest to him in to see the truth. The depths of his own soul frightened Jace. To have such a fear assault his control like this was terrifying. Was to love really so blindingly raw?

As he studied Lydia’s resting figure, Jace just wanted to crawl under the covers, slip an arm around her torso and never let her leave his side again. He wanted to take them to a dream without war and without duty, just for a while.

But this was the life they had chosen. They both stood by that. Duty was a small price to pay in exchange for the privileges their birthrights had granted them. They owed it to those without money, without choice and freedom, to stand up and fight.

“I don’t need to tell you that the arm is gone.”

Jace shook his head softly, turning to meet Teva's gentle eyes.

“Then you also know that she will need you," the warlock said, smiling sadly. "Losing a limb is no easy thing, but it's manageable. She will be the same warrior, but she'll need to adapt.” Teva paused, and then asked, “Is she strong, your Lydia?”

“Yes,” Jace replied without hesitation. “But I’m going to be here when she wakes. I’m not going anywhere.”

At the end of the bed, Willow cocked her to the side. Her eyes narrowed, almost in warning, as though she didn’t yet believe in his chivalry.

“Really?” Her tone was flat. “How noble.”

Before he could act defensive, awareness came over him. It wasn’t Jace that she didn’t believe in. It was humanity; and their fickle natures that warlocks had no doubt seen throughout the years. Jace kept a lid on his temper and swallowed. 

“I love her,” he began, after a long pause. He gripped a corner of the sheets, fighting against the tears that wanted to fall. “I would love her with one arm, or two, or three or more. It doesn’t matter. She could wake up with green skin or speak in the language of eagles. I wouldn’t give a damn. I love more than her ability to swing a sword, or stitch a hemline together.”

Jace paused again. He gently touched Lydia's cheek, grazing it with a fingertip. “I love her spirit,” he said. “She’s strong, and gentle too, understanding without condescending. She doesn’t know when to quit either, and I love her even the more for it. I am bonded to this one,” Jace finished, and with it, Willow’s expression shifted.

“Then our work here is done,” she said, the finality no longer without warmth. As she climbed to her feet, the warlock smiled, slipping an arm through her husband's.

"Blessed be, Jace Wayland," Willow said, gracious and genuine. 

Jace lifted a fist to his chest, inclining his head with respect. He repeated the gesture in Teva’s direction, who smiled warmly in return.

After the two warlocks had gone to their next patient, Jace lost track of the time.

The evening had become early night, and with it, the exhaustion crept in even more. His lids grew heavier, and he would find himself drifting off, and waking when his head hit the bed, or Lydia shifted in her sleep. He would wake in an instant, only to find that she was still sleeping. Occasionally, the girl would mutter, or cry out. Jace would change the cloth covering her forehead, dab at the beads of sweat, and pull down or wrap the covers further around her chin, depending on her state. Sometimes her skin would burn with feverish heat, and other times it felt icy to the touch.

He hated that Lydia was once again falling prey to nightmares, and all because she had fought for liberty, for her people.

But she was alive, and Jace was determined to remain by her bedside until her eyes opened. All would not be right in the land, but his heart would feel whole again. The weight against it would lift, not disappear, but fade. She would soften and sharpen the focus all at once; awakening the fight within Jace, but lulling the fear to sleep.

When he next awoke, it was still dark. The pitch-black from outside told Jace that the council meeting must’ve come and gone by now. The king would likely pass in the night. Jace knew that he ought to be with Alec, but the urge to stay was too overwhelming.

Besides, Jace knew that his best friend was not alone. Even if they were apart, they were together, rooted in each other’s souls like a birdsong that never silenced.

Jace was running a hand along the sheets, tracing the raised threaded patterns. He would find himself talking aloud, just like he’d done to coax Lydia back from her venom-induced fevers during the quest’s journey.

“I don’t know about you,” he murmured, “but I’m really starting to hate this whole arrangement. You pass out, I sit and wait. You get injured being a hero again, I sit and cry like a maiden. Uh, not that that’s bad, I just…” He sighed. “I suppose I’d look rather dashing tied to a post, while you cut me free from the flames.” He chuckled to himself. “Yeah. Bad time for a hero fantasy, right? Sorry, there’s not much else I can do other than irritate you into waking up. It worked last time.”

The next time he drifted off, Lydia’s skin wasn’t burning anymore. It was warm, but healthily flushed.

Jace fell asleep properly after that, just for a short while, but it was uninterrupted.

The third time he awoke, something, at last, changed. 

He was cradling his chin in his hands, guiltily bored now. There was so much to concern himself with, but he was stuck, waiting. He lost count of the yawns that escaped his lips, from weariness and boredom. He had no one else to talk to. He was just caught in an endless loop of half-sleeps and staring at Lydia.

Once again, slumber tugged at his eyelids, pulling them closed and sending him back into sleep-

“Th-thank the Angel I can swing a sword with my right hand, hm?”

Jace’s eyes flew open.

“Lydia,” he managed to croak out. He was careful not to jolt the bed as he sat up, but he shuffled forwards, studying her face with attentiveness. “Hello,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were fully open, gazing down at him. Her expression was taunt, but there was a small smile there too.

Carefully, Jace assisted her as she sat up in the bed, leaning heavily against the pillow. Other than that, she didn’t seem to be in any pain. Her expression was neutral, her lips a bit cracked.

“Tell me,” Lydia’s voice was quiet, but sure, and she held Jace’s gaze and finished, “how bad it is. I want to know what happened at the battle, my injuries, and what’s happening at the castle. I’m in the infirmary, yes?” She glanced around, and Jace nodded. He hesitated for a few moments, and then made a decision.

Climbing onto the bed, he stretched out his legs and sat beside her, giving her a pointed look until she reclined against him, resting her head against his shoulder. When she was settled, he smiled. 

“That’s better,” Jace said, kindly. He didn't want to tiptoe around her, or treat her too brazenly either. These were careful waters to tread, and he would make this as bearable as possible.

And so, he did. At least, he tried exceptionally hard. He retold the battle, and the outcome, and also mentioned the king’s critical state, but the kingdom’s unified front.

When that part was over, he shifted, tilting her chin up. Only when Lydia was looking into his eyes, and could not shield herself from his open affections, did he reveal her injury, although he sensed that she already knew, but simply needed to hear the acknowledgement out loud.

Afterwards, silence lapped around them. He waited, holding his tongue. 

Lydia threw back the covers before he could stop her, and the sleeve of her tunic now revealed the space that her limb had once filled. She inhaled sharply, but otherwise suppressed her reaction. 

"Well," she said, finally. "This is new." 

Jace didn’t know whether to be impressed with her jest, or sad. He didn’t want Lydia to hide her pain, although he understood it.

Carefully, Jace asked, “What’s on your mind, Branwell?”

She suddenly huffed out a laugh, and Jace blinked in surprise.

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbled, lifting her right hand to gently cover the stump of her left shoulder. She winced, but then relaxed, letting her hand fall onto the bed again. “It’s just…I hadn’t expected you to call me that," she admitted. "Not for a while.”

Jace frowned. “Why not? You’re still you.”

“Am I?” Lydia asked. Her voice had grown quiet, and unsure. She leaned against the headrest, slumping slightly. “As for your question, I don’t have an answer. I just feel...detached. And not just in a physical sense. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel." 

He nodded, understanding the neutral reaction. It was a shock. More than that, it was a victory, to be alive, but to be unprepared for _how_ you survived, was a delicate thing. 

“We were taught how to fight,” Jace said, “not how to deal with the consequences. But we’re together in this, and you and I, Branwell, are born survivors. Warriors don’t give up, but we can certainly rest in-between the fights." He slipped a hand around her neck, brushing across the nape with gentle fingers. "Take your time, okay? I’m staying here.”

“You are?”

Lydia didn't meet his eyes, and her lips were pressed firmly together, like she was waiting any second for him to leave. 

Jace nodded. "Oh, yes," he said, keeping his tease gentle. "I’m a stubborn ass, remember? Couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.”

“Good. That’s…really good.”

“Yeah?”

Lydia nodded, and once again let her head fall heavily onto his shoulder.

“Oh, you know what this means,” Jace casually began.

“What?”

He flashed her a grin. “You’ll have to wear the wedding band on your other hand.”

A strangled sound pushed itself from Lydia's lips. It was a gasp and a sob, and her face crumpled, tears slipping down her cheeks.

For a long, awful moment, Jace feared he'd upset her. He held her close, resting his chin lightly against her head.

And then, Lydia quietly asked, “You still…want me?”

“Never stopped,” he murmured. Pulling back, Jace lifted her chin up with his right hand, and rested his left beside her shoulder. He smiled, and then surged forwards. He kissed her fiercely, and she gave back just as urgently. Lydia reached up with her right hand and wrapped it around his neck, fingers tangling in Jace's hair. There was a stillness that came after the kiss. No other words were needed. The promise had been made: neither of them would leave the other. 

“You should go now,”

“But I’ve only just climbed into your bed,” Jace protested.

At that, Lydia finally smirked. It was such a warm, teasing expression that she wore. It made Jace want to list off a dozen more terrible jokes, anything to keep that smile widening.

“I’m tired,” she said, but leaned forwards to kiss his cheek, “and you ought to see if anyone needs Jace Wayland’s excellent company. He’s rather the charmer, you know.”

“Mm, if you insist,” Jace said happily. As he climbed out of the bed, he raised the back of Lydia’s hand to his lips, pressing his mouth to it and holding it there.

“I love you,” he said.

Lydia’s eyes regained some of their brightness, and with each passing moment, a little coloured danced its way back into her cheeks.

She beamed back at him. "I love you too, Jace," she said, and then sighed. Se began untwisting her hair, a little awkwardly, but determinedly. “Better learn how to braid one-handed then,” Lydia muttered.

Jace was still smiling proudly as he left the infirmary.

~

The meeting had been less tense than Alec expected. Yet he didn’t miss the nervous glances exchanged between lords and ladies of the Court.

When they announced the king’s declining health, murmurs began to dance around the throne room. Will, Jem, Raphael and Isabelle flanked the four corners of the room; his eyes and ears to observe any suspicious signs, but their strength gave Alec the resilience to keep going, and so he did.

He didn't look for Jace. He knew that he was with Lydia, and he was glad. Jace deserved to be with the one he loved. It soothed the prince, to know that one of them was happy at least. 

Once the announcement was made for the funeral procession, Alec didn't anticipate the reactions. While they were not outraged, the people of the Court appeared to be confused. He levelled his gaze with their frowns, casting a cool look over the people he would – and very soon - rule over.

“The Accords were created to maintain peace," Alec said, standing in the centre of the raised dais. The throne was behind him, and Maryse was to the right. "But the quest I have undertaken has been…revealing. We confuse peace with forced submission. Downworlders have gifts that are unlike ours, yes, this is true, but we share similarities. We're all striving to achieve a future where every kingdom in Idris can benefit from order. We may have defeated Lord Valentine, but we wouldn't have done so without the assistance of those who offered their services."

He paused, letting the people see his calm confidence. This was one thing he was sure about, and he hoped they saw this. "Warlocks, fair-folk, werewolves, volunteers from the villages and armies alike; all made this victory possible.”

Only silence lingered after his speech. The lords and ladies took in the new information, staring up at the man who would become their king. The downworlders who had stayed seemed just as surprised, perhaps more so. 

What were they thinking?

Alec didn't know. He was confident in his decisions. He had to be. His kingdom needed a strong leader.

_It was supposed to have two..._

He closed his eyes, briefly distracted by that thought. The pain was still there, but he concealed it. He had promised Magnus to try and carry on. That was what he was doing now. 

Alec found that he was taking cold satisfaction in his mother’s surprise. She had little power to argue. Interrupting his speech would show disorder amongst the royal family, and weakness, especially now, was unforgivable. In the aftermath of war, and loss, Idris needed a strong ruler, an unchallenged one.

And if Alec didn’t have it in him to be one, he’d at least give the people a damn good direction to follow.

“The procession will take place in a week’s time. Any helping hand will be welcomed, and please, consider what kind of place you’d like to raise your children in: a world ruled by unbeneficial laws, or one that can promise to advance our prospects? A future united is a future that will last,” Alec said fiercely. “The Accords will be suitably adapted after my coronation." 

It was then, with a shudder and a shock, that Alec realised why the silence went unchallenged, why his statements went unchallenged.

He had the power to change, to force order. Was it right to submit his subjects, even if the new laws were more acceptable to all?

Running this around again in his mind, Alec made another decision. He added, “Many of you suffered during the raid on the Castle, all those years ago." He swallowed, taking a moment to prepare. "I lost my brother," he said. He found Izzy's eyes in the crowd, and she smiled sadly, her eyes shining with fierce pride.

Alec surveyed the room. "Consider how many downworlders have lost because of the Accords, because we have decided it is fair to limit their knowledge and gifts. We may be chosen by the Angels, but hatred is not excusable, else we become like Valentine, and all the cynics who cling to the old traditions. Values are worth believing in. Loyalty, freedom, and knowledge; these are strengths, not weaknesses. I have come back from war understanding this, more than ever before. Which is why, as your prince, and as a knight who has seen suffering and darkness, I cannot stand by. I only ask that you place your faith now in me. That is all.” He glanced over at Maryse, whose lips were firmly pressed together. She made no attempt to speak, and so Alec stood, gripping the pummel of his sword as he surveyed his Court.

“I thank you for your patience,” he began, “and those who have helped since our return. This is a time of recovery, and we will mourn and respect those who fought for the land. If anyone would like to speak up, I open the floor up to ideas.”

It was now, during moments like this, that Alec thoughts turned to Magnus again. The warlock would know how to appear powerful, but approachable. He would be smiling, but also confident; radiating energy, and kindness. 

Alec feared that he couldn't do that. Was he still just a boy playing pretend in a castle?

_No,_ he thought. He caught memories of gentle eyes and blue magic in his mind, and smiled. _I can do this._

Although no one spoke, the tension surrounding the gathered council, and downworlders, unwound. They were still grieving, and recovering, but they were also prepared. As one people, and with careful steps, the kingdom would survive. 

Alec inhaled slowly, counting down from five again, and then said, "Very well. Thank you for your time. Council dismissed."

He was readying to leave, gesturing for the queen to follow suit, when a familiar face near the front cleared her throat. Luciana waited until she had at least half of the Court's attention, and then smiled. She dropped, slowly, onto one knee, inclining her head to the prince. 

She bowed, and the gesture caused a ripple effect. Many of the lords and ladies bowed their heads, or sunk to a knee. And then, most of the faeries, and then other downworlders, bowed to the prince, although some simply nodded. The customs were different, but the respect remained the same, and Alec held back the tears of relief, and gratitude. He couldn't represent them, but he could create a space where they could do it themselves. 

_Hopefully_ , Alec thought. His next thought was:

_They’re bowing to the wrong person._

But Magnus was dead, and there was only Alec left.

For Magnus, and for the kingdom, Alec would build up his walls, strengthen the kingdom, and fight on.

_One fight at a time._

If he had to bear the grief alone, then so be it. Idris would not suffer anymore.

Alec closed his eyes as he walked out of the throne room, sadly getting used to the familiar pang of loss. It was a part of him now, just as Magnus had once been. Where the warlock’s laughter and love once warmed him, there was now a hot spark. Sometimes it would flare up, but often it just sat there, unmoving but an ember of sharp, burning reminder.

Deciding that it was time, Alec headed to the East Wing, towards his wounded father’s chambers. The sun was setting, and fairly soon, Isabelle, or Jace, or someone would come and beg him to rest again. Reluctantly, Alec would surrender. The last thing Idris needed was a dying king _and_ a stumbling ghost of a prince who refused to sleep.

The halls were strangely empty. His guards didn't flank him. Alec wondered, with a soft, fond feeling, if Izzy had demanded that they let him go alone.

The castle was quiet, but by no means calm. As he passed the open windows, he could see the funeral arrangements being made below. The courtyard was filling up with wooden slats, the same ones that the deceased would be laid upon and carried throughout the village, to the burial grounds just outside the castle’s outer wall. The grassy area was about to be populated, but at least, Alec thought sadly, the procession would be reachable for any who wished to attend. Travellers from other villagers and kingdoms would be able to mourn.

Alec's presence was required for the service. He would be seen from the royal balcony, overlooking the full event. For the people to see their prince respecting the fallen men and women was of great importance. Alec wouldn’t disrespect any of them by succumbing to his own sorrow. He would have to shield himself behind a mask of composure, and grieve in private, away from the watchful eyes of those who looked to him for bravery.

As the prince reached the chamber door – guarded by two, stern-faced men – Alec braced himself. It was time to be brave one more time tonight.

“Your Highness, the king, he’s…weak,” one of the guards said, a hesitant hand on the door. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes,” Alec quickly said, and nodded briskly. The guards parted the double doors, revealing the awaiting chambers with the sound of stone grating against the marble floor.

They closed behind Alec, shutting him off from the outside.

He stepped towards the bed.

The kingdom needed a leader, but as soon as he stepped into Robert’s chamber, Alec felt himself become a boy again. He was young and wide-eyed and listening to his father’s voice boom across the Great Hall. He was holding Izzy’s hand at their parents’ coronation, remembering the dazzling gold of the crown, and the proud gleam in Robert’s smile.

Now, as Alec came to quietly sit by the bed, Robert’s crown was discarded on the table, and the king’s smile was no more.

He didn’t speak for a while, and simply sat by his father’s side. He listened to the croaking breathes that fought their way out into the air. Robert’s head was resting against a pile of scarlet and gold-threaded pillows, but still, Alec fussed, and added another one, placing it just behind Robert’s right shoulder.

If his father lasted the night, Alec would be surprised.

_“Alec.”_

“Father?”

Alec’s head shot up, the voice – no matter how quiet, and cracked – commanding his attention in a heartbeat. His father’s eyes were half-open, but they were focused in Alec’s direction. His thin lips even pulled into a half-smile.

“Can your…warlock not heal me?” Robert asked, but the amusement didn’t reach his unblinking eyes. As he tried to sit up, Alec reached forwards, assisting his father as he tried to reposition.

When he was more comfortable, Alec swallowed. In the silence, an answer was born. Robert sensed it, somehow, and his brow drew closer together in concern.

"Son?"

Alec stared down at his hands, studying the small bruises, and dry skin at the heel of his palm; anything to avoid meeting the king’s gaze. It was the first time that Robert had acknowledged his son’s relationship with Magnus, and although he’d never explicitly revealed it, Alec was certain he’d never hidden it either. Alec wondered when he had realised; at the meeting, or afterwards, after…

“No,” Alec quickly said, after enough silence had lingered for it to become painful. “He can’t.” He carelessly pressed a finger into his palm, a dull throbbing pain blossoming. It was better than the ache in his chest. That was one particular pain that wouldn’t go away.

Unfortunately, Robert didn’t let it go. The king coughed once, and then asked, “Oh, why? Alec? Wh-?” Robert broke off, and this time, Alec didn’t need to see it to know that all doubt had left the king’s expression.

“ _Oh,”_ he quietly said. Robert shifted, clearly feeling uncomfortable from more than just the injury. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Before he could stop it, Alec blurted out, “Are you?”

He hadn’t come here to fight with Robert, especially not when it was possibly his final night, but Alec couldn’t hold back the hard, defensive edge. He felt it constricting his throat, forcing the harsh question out.

Either Robert didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he simply nodded. “Yes,” he said. Alec wondered if it pained him to even speak at all. If so, why did his father care to waste his words on a warlock?

And then, Robert surprised him.

“He wasn’t my first choice for you, admittedly, nor would he be on the first _list_ either,” the king said. A quiet cough vibrated from his chest. It took Alec a few moments to realise it was supposed to be a laugh.

Finally, Alec lifted his head and met his father’s gaze. His ashen face was searching his son’s, with an earnest unhappiness that surprised Alec. Taken aback, the prince relapsed into silence.

Robert almost smiled then, forlorn, as though he’d found the answer, yet again, in Alec’s expression. 

“I know you….cared for him,” Robert quietly said. “I would have tried to respect that, for you.”

The kindness was desperate; a child’s playing at forgiveness. Alec didn’t scold him, but he couldn’t bring himself to embrace his father either. Too much had happened between then and now.

“It’s too late now.” Alec said, as blunt as stone. He looked away, and when his father’s hand rested atop his, he slowly pulled it away.

“I should leave. There are funerals to arrange.” He froze. “I didn’t mean….”

_Yours._

The unspoken question had finally come to pass, but Alec hadn’t meant to slip up. He was planning on leaving his father with a smile, or at least a hug, and a ‘thank you’ of sorts, but Alec felt anything but grateful. Raw grief was still biting at his insides.

Robert was the first one to speak again. “Alec,” he began, and patted the bed, inviting Alec to sit back down. “I’m going to go soon. My body is too weak to fight anymore.” He raised a hand to stop whatever weak protest had been seconds from leaving Alec’s throat.

The king’s fingers trembled, but he held them up with pride. “You’re the only one who hasn’t lied to me yet,” Robert said, smiling now, “so please don’t.”

Perhaps it was the knowing look in the king’s eyes. Or maybe it was the slight inclining of his head, the ‘I know you, son’ expression that was the reason for Alec’s tears. It slipped between Alec’s careful walls. He leaned forwards, gripping his father’s hand tightly in his own, ceasing the shaking.

“Dad, I...” Alec whispered, and then the tears were falling. He managed to control them, to hold back the sobs, but a few escaped, and broke the silence occasionally. All the while, Robert simply waited, and held Alec’s hand as he cried.

“Alec, listen,” Robert began. “When I pass, I want you to know this.” He rested his hand over Alec’s shoulder, gripping it tightly and forcing himself to focus. For a few seconds, the king seemed like himself again. He was strong, unbeatable. “You’ll be a great king, Alec. Even greater than I ever was. Your mother was always the kingdom’s true ruler, we both know that.” Robert chuckled, and then all humour left his expression. “You will make enemies, son. Intentional or otherwise. But, and here’s the important part, you will find love again.”

_No._

Alec recoiled. He shook his head, the words like a punch to the gut. The soft, gentle encouragement was worse than any wound. Robert would’ve been better off to break his nose, or scoff in his face.

Robert’s face fell. He’d realised too late that the words should’ve remained unspoken. He patted Alec’s hand again, and the prince shook away the protests in his heart. There was only a short while left. He wouldn’t taint their final moments together with bitterness.

He smiled at his father. “I’ll make you proud,” he said, the words surprisingly easy to say, even if they were half-lies. But they were what Robert wanted to hear, and Alec knew, in a deeper part of his heart, that he would indeed make the king proud. Eventually. It just might not be exactly what he’d planned for his son.

As he climbed to his feet, sensing that Robert’s fluttering lids were soon to close again, Alec raised his clenched fist to his chest. He bowed his head. 

He was halfway at the door when Robert’s whisper carried across the room, “I love you, Alec."

When Alec turned back, he saw that his father’s chest was still rising, but weakly.

Alec smiled. “I love you, too.”

When the guards closed the double doors once more, the prince drank in the sight of his father, laying in the large bed, reclining comfortably with a small smile. It was a peaceful memory, one he’d linger on in the future. He’d remember the hesitant, but sure conversation they’d shared, rather than the nightmare reminder of Valentine’s fatal blade.

He’d remember a father who had once read him stories, who’d once snuck Isabelle family cookbooks and denied when she’d almost blown up the royal kitchens.

He would not look to Robert as a king, but as a father; someone who made mistakes, and who was still learning. No pedestal would be given to him, rather an honest man who’d obeyed what he felt was a just law.

Times changed, but Alec knew that his father was a good man. He just wasn’t an exceptional one.

As footsteps approached, Alec met his mother halfway in the hallway. They exchanged a moment of silence, simply locking eyes, and in doing so, Alec knew she was going to be with Robert all through the night. His mother would be strong, and be by the king’s side when his children couldn’t bear it.

“Goodnight,” Maryse softly said.

Alec simply inclined his head in response, his energy far too drained for much else. But this, Maryse could understand; grief, masking it, and dealing with it behind closed doors.

Minutes later, as he climbed into his own bed, Alec felt like a stranger to his surroundings. He had slept away many years in this bed, woken to old and new sounds, and shouts, and laughter. He’d sheltered Isabelle during loud, crackling storms, and screeched with surprise when Jace had jumped out from the curtains when they were young.

Any nostalgic longing slowly faded away, and Alec fell asleep. His night was made up of dreamless sleep. He didn’t have nightmares. He was lost to a blank slate, that terrible page of winter that he’d once believed was bright and hopeful.

Instead, it was taking everything he held dear from him. One by one.

As morning broke out, Alec was awoken by loud clanging bells and the sound of quiet sobs outside the door.

The king had passed away before the sun had risen.

~

In the middle of the night, Isabelle found herself stirring.

She rose, sitting up in bed to see the now-empty space beside her. The snow was falling heavily outside the window.

She glanced around the room. “Clary?” she called out softly. The sheets were still creased, which meant the girl hadn’t been gone for long.

They’d surrendered to sleep a few hours before, after a long afternoon of making public appearances throughout the villages.

Now, as the princess looked outside, Izzy hated the blinding whiteness of the snowfall. It was laying outside, a fresh, stark white against the stone. The courtyard was silent, already mourning the fallen. The funeral procession was in a couple of days’ time, but Isabelle knew that no one was ready to say goodbye. They never would be.

She let her mind wander, but as soon as her father’s ashen face danced its way across her mind, Izzy winced. She’d spoken to Robert earlier, and made her peace with his passing, but as soon as the news came, Isabelle knew she’d feel that loss like an arrow to her heart.

The door to her chambers suddenly emitted a creak. Startled, Isabelle turned quickly towards it. She relaxed instantly when a familiar girl with red hair and stormy eyes padded back into the room.

“Clary,” Isabelle greeted quietly. She turned from the window, and the world outside, and focused on the comfort that Clary’s presence always gave her. “Where did you go?”

“I just needed to stretch my legs,” Clary said. She tilted her head to the side, studying Isabelle’s expression. “I’m sorry if I worried you, Iz,” Clary apologised, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the princess’ waist. She drew her in. The firm warmth of her nose rested against Isabelle’s, and Clary held her there, seeking out the relief she’d been searching for. Isabelle didn’t need to look to the connection they shared to know the truth. She felt it in the now-calm rise and fall of Clary’s chest, caught it in the girl’s softened smile.

“Come back to bed,” Isabelle invited. She drew the girl over, but they didn’t climb under the layers of blankets just yet. Clary shuffled, crossing her legs as she sat on the bed, and after a moment, Izzy mirrored her posture. She sensed that Clary wanted to talk, and so she waited, quietly, and as patiently as she could.

“Whatever is on your mind,” Isabelle began, “you can share as little, or as much as you like. If you want advice, I’m a rather excellent guide, or so I’ve been told.” She let herself laugh, but quietly, and was pleased that Clary joined in. Still, the girl’s guard was up, like she was bracing herself for a recoil. But Isabelle didn’t feel any fear, or revolution. She just wanted Clary to open up.

Clary stared down at the bed. When she spoke, finally, her tone was flat, and unyielding. Cold in its truth.

“I killed him, and I’d do it again,” she said.

Isabelle didn’t need to ask for clarification. She just listened. Clary hadn’t just killed the threat. She’d cut a sword through her father and walked away.

“I…I’m sorry if that makes you see me differently.”

To give credit to her courage, Clary didn’t hesitate as she glanced up. She held Isabelle’s gaze without twitching, or flinching. It wasn’t poetic or pleading. It was an exposure of honesty. Conveying the truth was sometimes like jabbing your toe on a dull stone. It hurt, and ached, but it went away after a while.

Isabelle hardly felt the wound. In fact, hardly any surprise cut into her. She’d known Clary’s anger, felt it, even, and it wasn’t as though Izzy was a stranger to lashing out. She could be stubborn and wrong and heated.

“I might’ve done it too,” Isabelle admitted. "Besides, I did make the first wound," she reminded her. Izzy sighed, the breath slipping into the air and letting out some of the tension. She’d kept it coiled in her chest, fearing as she waited. But now that Clary had spoken, she was able to let it go.

Extending her hand, Isabelle lifted Clary’s left hand, turning it over so that she was gazing down at the palm. The veiny lines and dry skin were just as beautiful to Isabelle as Clary’s sharp smile, or fearsome spirit. She traced them with a fingertip, absently.

“I don’t love just the soft parts of you, Clary,” Isabelle calmly professed. “I love all of you. Even the parts you might want to hide from me, at first.” Her finger reached the heel of Clary’s palm, and she stroked in a spiralling pattern. A quiet sound – caught between relief and pleasure - escaped Clary’s lips, but she didn’t speak.

“You’re not an angel, as often as I like to tease otherwise,” Isabelle said, laughing for a moment. “You’re human, and you hurt, and you’re passionate. I wouldn’t want you any other way. I think this is why the Angels gave us love, to keep us company through the dark times. Just...know that you’re not alone.”

She paused, resting her hand atop the other girl’s, and waited. Had she said enough? Or too much? The confession had come from a place of sincerity, but now Izzy feared it was overbearing.

Tales of epic romance and adventure had often left this part out: how to carry on after the fight, how to keep going, and hold onto the love.

But taking her own path had never frightened Isabelle before.

When Clary’s body sagged in relief, and she started to smile, the princess knew she’d succeeded.

“Iz, you’re just…you’re…wonderful,” Clary finished. She looked at Isabelle, and finally, the clouded, distant look settled. Softened. She smiled. “I love you," Clary added, and said no more.

They sat together on the bed in comfortable silence. The snow continued to fall, and the night slipped by, but they didn’t think about anything else. For a short while, the room was all that there was.

Before they drifted back to sleep, Clary had Isabelle pressed against her chest, expertly running a hand through her hair. “Seeing the battle, and what happened with Magnus, and Simon…” Clary trailed off, placing a hand under Izzy’s chin and encouraging her to lift her gaze. Clary’s eyes burned with something fierce, and she said, “I never want to lose you. Not if I can help it. So I’m going to tell you that I love you a lot, okay?”

“I like the sound of that, Clary Fairchild.”

As her eyelids grew heavier, Isabelle was suddenly less afraid of waking. Whatever happened, they’d face it together. She would make sure that her friends and family were safe, and sooth those who were suffering. She’d take as many burdens as she could from Alec, whether or not he’d let her. Her brother was about to become king, and the kingdom needed a united front. Isabelle knew she must be a part of that. She _wanted_ to.

The bells that rang out in the morning were not pleasant.

They sung out with a violent, foreboding declaration:

The king was dead.

The numbness came, and then the tears, and then all Isabelle felt was an aching pang of sympathy and compassion. Alec would take the throne soon. Having just lost the man he loved, he’d be swarmed with duty.

“Isabelle, I’m so sorry,” Clary whispered, stroking her hair as she cried. They had known that Robert wouldn’t survive, but hearing the bells was a brutal wake-up call.

Izzy shook her head, determination pouring into her veins. “No, I can grieve during the procession," she insisted. "I have to find Alec. He’ll need me. He’ll-“

“- be in the Great Hall, making the announcement soon,” Clary interrupted softly. "Take some time for yourself, Iz."

They began to dress, quickly, with Isabelle donning a simple, deep purple gown, and leaving her hair down in soft waves. She raked a brush through it, when Clary raised an eyebrow at the knotted tangles, but other than that, she remained as unkempt as she felt.

Clary held out her hand. “I’m ready when you are, my lady.”

Isabelle took it, and tucked it through her arm, keeping the girl close. She would need an anchor, for when the busy days ended and the night came. Clary was hers, now and for always. Together, they followed the sounds of gathering lords and ladies in the Court. 

The people parted for them, and as she approached the raised dais, there was only her mother standing on the highest step. Maryse wore her crown just as proudly as she always did, her chin lifted, and her sharp eyes focused. If Isabelle hadn’t heard the bells herself, she would think it was a mistake. Her father was fine. The kingdom had not been to war. All was well.

But as Izzy climbed to the top - reluctantly leaving Clary to stand with Luke and Jocelyn near the front of the crowd – her mother’s eyes sought out hers. Grief manifested itself in the queen’s pleading look.

Until now, Isabelle had always seen her mother’s strength as a cold, unwavering power. It was to be feared, or challenged. Today, as Isabelle stood by her side, in the day of Robert’s death, all the princess saw was a woman who had lost someone very dear to her.

She’d always seen her parents as leaders, and yes, as opponents. But those were in simpler times, when fighting was black and white, and when ruling a kingdom seemed so far-off in the distant future.

That time was here, and Isabelle rose to the occasional with as much empathy and kindness as she could. She curtsied gracefully to Maryse, surprised that her shaking leg held her up so easily. When Maryse placed a hesitant hand on the girl’s shoulder, Isabelle rose once again. They turned together, facing the mournful crowd with dignity.

The Lightwoods were proud people, but Isabelle hoped that the Court also saw a family grieving. They would not see weakness, but rather a family determined to do right by the people the king had given his life for.

“Arise for Prince Alexander Lightwood of Idris.”

Murmurs tore across the room as the double doors opened, and finally, Alec entered the Hall.

Isabelle’s breath caught at the sight of her brother. On the surface, he was held together with long, powerful strides, and dressed respectfully in a black tunic, thin, golden crown, and his sword strapped to his waist belt. He walked through the parted crowd and reached the dais, ascending it like it was an executioner’s block. Remorse flashed across his expression, and Isabelle longed to reach for him.

But she couldn't. Not now.

The announcement was over soon. Guiltily, Isabelle blurred out a great deal of the meeting. She caught words and phrases, but most of it was like a dream. A terrible, very real dream. Occasionally, she’d feel a slight tug, and glance over at Clary, who would cock her head to the side. Isabelle would tilt her head a fraction, nodding, but then a few moments later, and Isabelle was back to drowning out the truth of what Alec was saying.

She caught the important parts, however; the coronation would be soon, but not until the kingdom had properly mourned its king, and the fallen men and women. Alec would give Robert the proper mourning period, and place the monarch in the Mourning Chamber. People would be allowed to pay their respects and visit the hall, and the king's body, up until the day of the funeral service. 

For now, the people would grieve, and learn to settle into a routine again. War was over, but taking it day by day was the best way forwards.

As the silence broke, and people began walking out, or moving to talk to each other, Isabelle came over to Alec.

She rested an arm on his, and gently asked, "Alec, I..." 

The prince shook his head, long strands of his dark, unkempt hair falling near his eyes. "Not now, Izzy. I have work to do."

"I know," she said quickly. She held his gaze, refusing to pull away. "What can I do, big brother?"

She refused to let Alec do this alone. They were a family. They knew each other's souls as well as they knew the castle layout. 

It was the endearment that threatened Alec’s composure. Isabelle watched as he swallowed, staring down at where her hand was. Slowly, he reached out, and held it, squeezing it once. “If you want to do something for me, really-“

“I do, tell me,” she interrupted.

Alec's smile was sad, and his eyes lacked any real focus, but he didn't pull back. "You can be happy, Iz," Alec softly said. He lifted his hand again, this time brushing back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I need you to do that for me," he said. "Please. I need to see you smiling.”

Although it was hard, she did. Isabelle smiled. She smiled with hope and love and all the strength she could muster up.

“Better?” she quietly asked.

He nodded, but his smile was gone. He leaned forwards to kiss her forehead, pulled back and said, “I’ll be riding out to meet with the Seelie Queen tomorrow. You’re welcome to join me.”

Isabelle nodded. “I’ll be there,” she vowed.

As she watched Alec walk from the hall, likely disappearing to arrange more meetings, and discuss his new duties, Isabelle sighed. She turned to find her mother, but Maryse was already engaged in conversation with a few other lords and ladies, who were offering their condolences. 

Clary was already making her way up the stairs, and Izzy waited until she was standing close to speak.

"He'll come to us when he's ready, right?" Isabelle asked tentatively, hoping to convince herself too. She stared at the doors, at where Alec had disappeared through. But her brother had the awful habit of putting others first, to the extent that he’d hide his own pain. She was determined to help him, but sometimes helping meant giving space.

_I can do this,_ Izzy thought. _I can be there for him. I can make this easier._

Clary nodded in agreement, and that was all Izzy allowed herself. She headed into the crowd, making small talk and acting the gracious princess. It was then, as she made turns about the room, and listened to worried questions and anxious looks, she realised something. There was more to fighting than swinging a sword. There was politics and negotiation and selflessness. She suddenly felt aged, and wondered how her parents had been able to do this.

_Together,_ her mind said.

She looked across at Clary, who smiled, and then at the people who surrounded her eagerly.

_Together_ , she repeated.

~

_Of all the places to go,_ w _hy did you come back here?_

The question clung to Alec, burned into him, until he accepted that there was no answer.

He had no excuses to explain why his feet had led him from the Great Hall, to here.

As he glanced around the royal library, it was all too familiar. Books were still organised into neat shelves and sections. There were still dusty ladders and arching beams overhead, and small alcoves where tables were tucked away like peaceful memories.

Faint traces of must and earth hung in the air, and Alec let it linger around him. He drank it in like a desperate man, needing something good, needing it so feverishly that he could almost imagine time unwinding. It could spill out, unravel like a thread, and he could change everything. He could bring back the warlock who had once danced his elegant fingers across the book covers. He could make himself a boy again, relive the years and change it all.

He could be a young prince meeting a warlock in his library. He could change the ending.

Even with the rush of memories, this was a safe place for Alec. He embraced the calm.

Slowly, he moved around. With one painful step at a time, he walked around the library, covering the entire ground floor.

_Nothing’s changed._

And why would it have done? This was the library Alec had grown up in, had stolen to whenever he needed time on his own.

It was where, as a child, he’d met a warlock with strange eyes and a welcoming smile. It was where the prince of Idris had met a demonic prince; where heaven and hellfire had converged them into one soul, one destiny.

It only felt right that he would come back here, after it all had ended.

Enraged by his own composure, Alec glanced around. There was no one to be seen. The attendants had likely been excused, told to rejoice with their returned – and safe – friends and family, or mourn.

The temptation to scream, or slaughter the sanctuary of the library was terribly overwhelming. The library was a home to Alec, but now it was like a tombstone as well. It compressed Magnus into ancient, dusty pages. It made him into a memory, rather than someone who would once again walk into this place, snap his fingers, and smile as he sought out books, and read from them in ancient languages. Alec would've taken him back here, and stolen kisses. He would've learned beside Magnus, and they would lift the bans and re-educate the land and-

_You can still do it. You just have to do it without him._

Fierce longing gripped him tightly. It refused to let go of the cruel, useless hope that Magnus was seconds from walking through the door. He’d wave, or greet Alec with a comforting embrace. He’d know exactly what to say, or how to let a silence feel right.

_You have to let him go. Soon._

Until that moment, Alec had been certain that he could honour Magnus’ memory. The warlock had a rich history filled with kindness and strength, and surely Alec could find some way to do that justice, to take his sacrifice and remake a kingdom in his name.

But he’d never planned on ruling alone.

_You did before._

That was true. Before Magnus, Alec had been ready to take the burden on alone. He’d convinced himself that love was a fairy-tale, born from a desire that simply didn’t come his way.

In a way, they’d both given up hope on loving. Magnus had dealt with self-loathing and anger and loss, and had convinced himself that no one else was coming. No one else was there to love him again. Alec, on the other hand, had simply never believed he could have what he wanted; what he prayed for in the long, dark nights, and the quiet prayers.

To fall in love with Magnus Bane had been the quest that Alec wanted to undertake for the rest of his days, and nights. He wanted to journey with the warlock, to grow, and learn, and eventually wait beside whatever heaven awaited them, so they could move on together.

Instead, he was left with this; memories that tasted like dusty books, and hopes that were torn in half by Magnus’ last spell. Alec swore he could still feel the unyielding forcefield. The magic was still underneath his nails, in the roof of his mouth, and the spaces between his ribs. It consumed and reminded, never letting him forget what had happened on Alicante-

“Who are you?”

The quiet voice startled Alec.

He spun around, sword crashing into the nearby table. On it, rested half a dozen of opened books, but he didn’t spare them a glance. He regained his composure, studying the young girl who had appeared in the library. She stood a few feet away, eyes widening a fraction.

“Uh…”

To say that Alec was shocked by the question was an understatement. At first, he'd just assumed that his mind had recreated the past with vivid detail. He’d asked Magnus the very same question, all those years ago. Why did his memory have to be so cruel? So jarringly _present?_

But then he realised that someone else, in fact, had disrupted the silence. It was a child’s voice, and a girl’s voice at that.

The prince found being looked upon by a small child, her wary expression likely connected to the way the gills on her neck flared with warning. The warlock child was inquisitive as she studied him, and Alec couldn’t help but stare back, thrown by her sudden appearance.

“Uh, I’m Alec,” he said, finally, neutral except for the wariness in his gaze. She’d taken him by surprise.

Although, judging by the girl’s flexing neck muscles, she wasn’t relaxed either.

“Uh, it’s okay,” he offered. “I’m…I’m just…”

What _was_ he doing? Alec couldn’t give the girl, or himself, a proper answer.

The warlock girl was dressed in a simple, purple gown, the neckline just low enough to show her gills, revealing the mark to the prince as they contracted.

“I’m not…” Alec quickly withdrew his hand from the sword, backing away slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Unable to tame his curiosity, he then asked, “I mean, are your parents here or…?”

The girl cocked her head to the side. After a moment, the air regained its usual pressure, and Alec swallowed, relieved. He didn’t know how to calm anyone, let alone himself. How was he supposed to convince a young warlock that Idris’ heir was on her side?

She surprised him then by smirking. “I escaped the guards.”

“Cool,” Alec said, returning the grin. “I used to do that.” He almost let the smile widen, remembering how leaving his guards had been the reason he first met Magnus, in this same place

It felt alien, to smile, and engage in a normal conversation like this, but he continued.

Slowly, Alec lowered himself onto his knees, so that he was at the girl’s height. Hopefully, she’d stop seeing him as a threat.

“They want me to walk in the procession. I don’t want to,” she mumbled, digging a booted toe into the carpet.

“Uh, who?” Alec had a thought then, a theory of sorts. The settlement just below the valley, near the island, had been abandoned, but Alec had been told at some point that downworlders had been rescued from there. He’d only half taken the information in, but now, seeing the warlock child, the prince began to add it up. She must've been one of Valentine's captured warlocks, a saved sacrifice. This child was another reminder that they'd lost, but also won. The girl would have a future because of them, because of Magnus.

When the girl didn’t answer, Alec said, “You don’t have to.” He paused, and then slowly inhaled, gathering up his nerve. “Can I tell you something? I don’t want to either,” he admitted. "But I have to."

The girl blinked, unsure. “Did you lose someone?” she asked, a tentative question that softened the blow.

Now it was Alec’s turn to stare at the flooring. He nodded, and when he looked back up, the girl was studying him again. She was quiet, but seemed to pick up on things quite quickly. Alec feared how she’d learned this, and was too afraid to ask.

“We should probably get you back, hm?”

Alec stood, and held out a hand, leaving enough distance for the girl to choose without manipulation.

“You coming?” he asked.

The girl remained still.

“Do you have a name?" Alec tilted his head, studying her carefully. "Or…?"

_Did they not care to give you one? Do you have parents? Where are you staying now_?

The strange desire to keep an eye on the child was settling against him, a surprisingly heavy feeling. He didn’t warm to it, but he didn’t push it away. The warlock child had been the first person to speak to him without pity, or an apology in her eyes. Alec liked that.

“Madzie,” the girl finally said. She lifted her chin and asked, “You?”

“I’m Alec.”

He shook her small hand, and the girl smiled again.

"Cool," Madzie repeated.

Alec grinned, and it felt more than halfway genuine.

"Yeah. Cool."

~

Once he'd returned Madzie to the warlock in charge of the orphaned little ones - and made an excuse to stick around and see if she was, in fact, being treated well - Alec found himself marching without a slump in his shoulders. For the next day, and the one that came after, there was newfound spirit in his actions.

Some downworlders stayed, and were given places to stay in the castle, or they were welcomed by some of the villagers, noticeably more so by the ones who had fought beside them. But slowly, the narrowed eyes and suspicion faded. People became welcoming, and gentle in the wake of the loss that had hit them all.

As one, they would move forwards.

Idris grieved for their lost king, and so did the Lightwoods. Robert’s body was carefully moved and placed into the Great Hall, where it would rest on the catafalque, a carved, marble block piece that stood tall in the centre of the room. People were granted permission to pay their respects there, before the burial.

Although it was covered with a delicate, gray cloth, Alec hadn’t been prepared to see his father’s figure laying there. He’d fled the room almost as quickly as he’d entered, but stayed long enough to bow his head, mutter a few words, and then leave.

As difficult and painful as that had been, Alec wasn't yet ready to enter the second room, the adjoining chamber, that opened up into an equally spacious room.

Only this one had been cleared out of its usual relics and jewels. In it, now rested Magnus Bane. Alec had invited Catarina and Ragnor to decorate the grand room as they pleased, and granted them the use of whatever material they required. Many warlocks in the kingdom had been in and out of the castle, visiting and paying their respects to both the king, and the ancient warlock who’d saved, and changed, many lives over his years.

Alec hadn’t been inside. He couldn’t bear it. Seeing Magnus’ body again would demand the truth to spill out, and Alec still had work to do, meetings to ride out to, and a future to build in their honour.

In fact, he was presently riding out to a hidden meeting point, ready to council with the Seelie Queen herself. 

He rode with a small number of his knights, a handful of warlocks, and faeries who’d stayed in Idris, and his sister. Isabelle was back in her armour as she rode beside her brother, her lips pressed firmly together. Clary flanked her, eyes narrowed as she no doubt scanned the area with her gifted mind.

Meliorn, the Seelie knight, and Izzy’s old lover and friend, had offered to be their envoy. He'd arranged a meeting just outside of the Shadowlands, on neutral ground. The place they were meeting in was canopied by large, blossoming trees. The winter season was only just nearing its end, but already, the trees were starting to add colour into the land again. Ground was softening and winds were calming.

Alec felt a pleasant calm settle inside of him. He feared that it was lost forever, but perhaps, like the kingdom, it just needed time. Everything, he realised, needed time, but only a few lucky ones were given it.

As they reached the small woodland, just outside of the Blackthorn Castle’s territory, Alec started to slow his horse. They trotted, at ease. After a few moments, a pretty clearing opened up to reveal their guests had already arrived. The Queen, and her select court and guards, were watching the riders intently.

Alec felt their steady gazes looking for any sign of weakness, any place to twist into the shape they desired. But he wasn’t here to fight, or submit. He wanted negotiations, and peace, no matter how long it took.

He wouldn't be king unless he knew, with absolute surety, that the kingdom was one he believed in. Idris had always been his home, but now it was his to rule, and love. To step blindly into the role of king terrified Alec, and so, he began with what he’d promised: a place in the new world he wanted to help create.

As they dismounted and stepped across the clearing, Alec kept slightly ahead. He’d already instructed that no one was to draw a weapon unless he said so. His knights obeyed, supporting him with respect. 

The Queen greeted him with a slow smile, as icy as he’d remembered the day he stood in her Court and pleaded for help. She might’ve sent warriors, but it had been touch and go, and Alec was still hesitant to trust her entirely.

But he owed her, and the Seelies, a chance.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Alec greeted, lifting a fist to his breastplate. He held it there for a few moments, waiting.

“To you, also,” the Queen smoothly replied, her head inclining. She made no offer to curtsy, or speak again, but the gesture was more than Alec had hoped for. This was neutral ground, and he remembered this as he began his planned speech.

“I once promised you a place at my council,” Alec began.

For a moment, the small scar on his hand twitched. He untied the knot holding his leather glove in place, and let it fall into his other hand. He held up his palm, revealing the thin scar from the cut he’d made.

“I don’t intend to go back on my word,” he said. “My coronation will be shortly, but I wish to rule Idris with your…consent.” He settled on the word, fearing it was too surrendering. He was not here to submit to anyone, but he needed her support. It was the first step in bringing together the downworlders. If a powerful leader joined forces with him, then the others would begin to as well, or at least give him the chance to prove his worth, prove that the future he promised was theirs to share.

“Continue, prince,” the Queen said, lips curling into a smile as she answered. One of her hands covered her elbow, and a long nail dragged across her lip, absently. It was a lazy gesture of power, and Alec knew that they were outnumbered here. Still, it wasn’t important. They were on neutral ground, and even if the worst rumours of Seelies were to be believed, they would not attack like this.

“We all belong to this land,” Alec said. He gestured around. “Faeries, mortals, other downworlders. We stopped Valentine together. We stopped a growing war, and proved that we are stronger united than we are with fear. An untrusting kingdom will not be my legacy,” Alec declared this with volume, certain that it had reached those at the back.

_Good_ , he thought. _I want them to hear this._

“I am offering you, and as many envoys as you choose, a place at my Council. We will seek to achieve a future where power is not abused. I understand that…education will be needed. On _all_ sides,” he said this carefully, not wanting to be defensive. But it was true. His kind were not all cruel, just as Seelies were not all self-interested, and eager to twist the truth.

They needed to sift between legends and truths, to create a future that understood the different creatures who belonged to its world.

“If you wish to decline this offer, I understand. Change takes time. I’m willing to wait. If you need time to weigh your options, and see if I am a king worth following, then fine.” He levelled her with an equally cool look. “But I am not here to waste my time, or my people’s time.”

The Queen didn't reply immediately. When she did, she spoke slowly, each second holding merit. "Many will disagree with this alliance," she said, but there wasn't any tension in her expression anymore, just curiosity. "Downworlders and mortals. Faeries and knights. Werewolves and warlocks. Do you not believe divides were created for a reason?”

Alec paused. “No,” he finally said. “I used to. Not anymore. Look, Valentine left blood and loss in his wake. The war almost tore Idris in half, but we survived. We will look inward, as well as seeking alliances. This is our chance to make something good from the chaos, or he will win,” Alec said solemnly. “Even in death, Valentine will win, if we choose to let history continue to repeat itself.”

The Queen abandoned her cool disinterest. She frowned. "What happened to you?" There was an almost hesitant curiosity in her voice, like showing a sign of interest was more dangerous than slicing into flesh.

Alec didn't flinch, but he read between the lines. She wanted to know about their journey, about the war, and everything else. She wanted to know where Magnus was, and what had happened. 

He realised then, that he had more than her alliance. He had the Queen's interest.

_That_ , Alec thought, _was definitely something._

“Align with me," he said carefully, "and you can ask all the questions you like." 

Beside him, Alec caught sight of Izzy's smile, and as he turned back, he stood even taller. 

“Smart prince,” the Queen eventually said, clicking a finger against her teeth. They were a startling white, and Alec almost looked away as they flashed a grin at him. "So, how long till the grand day?”

“Fourteen days,” Alec revealed. For a moment, he considered lying, or refusing to speak at all, but he had preached trust. He couldn’t back down now.

The Seelie Queen nodded. "Is...anyone welcome?” Her sharp eyes narrowed, waiting.

Alec thought for a long moment, thinking it over before answering. He nodded. "I would be honoured to see you in Court, Your Majesty,” Alec said. “Feel free to have chosen an envoy before, or relay a message. The castle will be open to liaisons.”

The meeting was reaching a swift, but natural end. Alec was pleased. More than that, he was _hopeful_.

The Queen's smile was lazy, but now held a fraction of warmth. “I shall see you then, Your Highness,” she said. “I will send an emissary as soon as possible, but I believe you already know members of my Court. If we are to build bridges, this seems like a sensible place to begin. Lady Helen,” the Queen raised her voice, just a fraction, but enough to reach the other faeries.

As two figures approached, Alec felt his smile grow, widening without having to force it. He greeted Helen with a hug, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out. He embraced her, and then leaned in to hug Aline, who had appeared with a small, but warm, smile.

“How are you?” Alec asked the pair, relieved to see that they looked happy.

“We're both well, thank you,” Helen assured him, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go. She and Aline stood to the left of the Seelie Queen, and Alec was now unsure who to give his attention to.

“My niece and her companion have been relaying stories of Idris,” the Queen revealed, and there was another spark of interest in her eyes. “I believe we have a great deal to learn, on _both_ sides,” she repeated Alec’s words from before, a glint in her eyes. It was a smile, even if it contained an otherworldly kind of humour that the prince couldn’t trust.

“I agree.”

“There we have it, then. These two will be my representatives in Court. They will sit at your table, and report back to me, as will my loyal knight. Meliorn, come forwards.” She gestured with a lazy flick of her wrist, and the handsome faerie appeared by Alec's side. He came over to the Queen, bowing. 

Alec was pleased. It was going much better than he’d feared it could. Also, it meant that he would see his old friends much more often. They had some catching up to do, but they appeared in good health, and happiness, and Alec knew now that that was worth everything.

“I believe we are done here,” the Queen declared, but for once, no cruelty held itself in her eyes. Her honesty was refreshing, and Alec met it as such.

“Thank you for considering our offer,” he said.

At that, she inclined her head, barely a nod, but it was an answer. _Yes_ , it said.

It was a start, and that was what Alec, and Idris needed.

“We will see what the future holds for an alliance between downworlders and mortals, but,” the Queen paused, a thin smile on her face, "I will consider being a part of it.”

As the faeries left the clearing, Alec felt a relieved breath exhale from his lips. He mounted his horse, ignoring the trembling in his hands.

_One step a time,_ he reminded himself.

Now, more than ever before, he longed to see Magnus there beside him. He wanted to share this with him. He yearned for the safety of that love, and the excitement of it. 

They rode back to the castle, and another, small anchor, settled around Alec’s heart, pulling it back down from the skies. He was shaking off the dreamlike haze, and he was glad. However, this meant that he was one step closer to facing the truth, to accepting that the one person he longed to run and share this with, was gone.

_Magnus would have snuck in some backhanded compliments,_ Alec thought, sadly, and with a smile.

But he wasn’t Magnus. He couldn’t hope to mimic the powerful energy that the warlock had wielded like a weapon and a shield. He was just a mortal prince, but it would have to be enough.

Alec would make sure it was enough.

~

The last time such a grand funeral had been held in Idris was during Valentine’s siege on the Castle. It had been a hushed up affair, ashamed in its victory. The coronation had been quick to follow. Back then, pride had wiped out any hope of unity.

But with downworlders and knights and village folk all participating in the service, there was an unspoken truce amongst the people.

As expected, Alec would be on the balcony, watching the procession from above. His people could look up and see that their heir was with them, sharing the grief. How he longed to be down, in the courtyards, walking through the inner village, until they reached the ready burial site outside. But it was outside the walls, and times were dangerous. Idris could not lose another member of the royal family, not now, when they needed a presence that was strong and powerful. 

So Alec settled for watching from the balcony above.

As he made his way out onto it, the night sky was spread out before him in sombre midnight blue. The stars were brighter than he’d seen them in a long while, but they felt too far away. Tonight, they seemed lifetimes away. They had once been old friends, but now they turned the cheek the other way. Their glow simply illuminated how isolated he was.

Instead of looking up and smiling, or catching the threads of violets and pinks, the volume of them overwhelmed the prince. Alec lost count, and grew angered. Trying to start again, he’s hum in frustration and begin from the outer, and then work inward. But nature was uncontrollable, and the clouds brushed across the sky, startling him from concentration.

Alec’s fingers gripped the marble balcony tightly.

As the crowds gathered below, Alec watched the dazzling moonlight start to appear from behind the clouds. It caught the windows of the castle, making them glisten like water droplets, or ice.

Fighting against the resurfacing memories, Alec gazed outwards, into the broad canvas of the sky.

_"The stars are yours."_

The words that Magnus had once sung like a soft song into Alec’s heart were now caged. They beat fiercely against Alec’s lungs, wanting air, wanting freedom. But to let go of them, was to accept that he would never again see the man behind the words. Robert's body was being carried in the service, but Alec had refused to send Magnus away. He was still resting in the second chamber. Alec couldn't bear to bury him.

_I don’t want the stars,_ Alec thought _. I only wanted you._

The procession was starting now.

Alec could see the candles being lit below. Each one was held in someone’s hand, representing the life that had been taken. As the crowd began to follow, the fallen were lifted into the air, and slowly, carried throughout the village. The people moved from the castle, and Alec’s eyes cut a path ahead, following them with every step they took. The gentle mourning hymn that they began to sing was hauntingly beautiful. It clung to his skin. Goosebumps prickled even under the thick tunic he wore.

It was sung by everyone, and in different languages. The tongues of old and young, ancient and common, mixed together in one single strand of a mournful lullaby.

The moon chose that moment to break out from a particularly thick cloud. As its light beat down in ribbons of silver light, Alec winced. He felt the all too familiar signs of approaching tears. His eyelids stung, and his throat tightened.

_“You can see the moon, always.”_

Alec gasped. His mind had re-created Magnus' voice so vividly. 

_“In the light, and the dark.”_

If only they’d known, clinging to each other in the colours of the lake, all that time ago, that it would be Alec looking for guidance. It would be Magnus who fell before he did. It would leave a very mortal prince to mourn a man he thought would live forever.

Alec made the mistake of giving his thoughts too much focus. He'd given the pain room to grow. They were slipping out now, and he found himself talking to the stars as though they could hear, or would answer with some kind of miracle.

“I never thought I'd lose you first,” Alec admitted, searching for a sign in the burning lights above the castle. He traced across the balcony absently. “I was ready for a lifetime of loving you, but…I never once thought I would have to live without you. It was selfish, and foolish. I promised you other nights.” He held back another sob. “I don’t know if I can do this without you. Before, I knew I’d be king, one day, but I didn’t believe in myself. Not fully, at least. With you, I did. You taught me how to love, and I want to believe that I gave you something special too, but I ended up killing you."

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, but the stars just burned more tears into Alec's eyes. "I’m the reason you’re gone," he said sadly. "I invited you on this quest. It was my fault. I…”

He trailed off, hunching over with his arms against the balcony. He cried until the tears made the marble stone damp and dark. The sky was bright, but darkness drowned Alec from the inside out. It filled him up to the brim, spilling out of his eyes, and splintering his heart. The sobs that escaped from his body was barely audible; shaky, fractured sounds.

When the song below grew louder, Alec forced himself to be quiet, to be respectful. He quietened his sobs.

"You asked me to chase the stars, but how can I?" Alec squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the light. "I see you in every damn one.”

Alec sobbed and let the tears burn and escape. “Magnus,” he murmured, but the word became lost in the breeze. It carried it away, and with it, Alec abandoned what was left of his faith.

It was time to let go.

Perhaps love, like the sky, would always be too great to understand. He had to let it go.

The funeral procession had reached the outside wall now, and the candlelight was flicking out. One by one, the people would close their eyes, and blow out the flame. The life would be remembered, forever, but the light was gone.

But then, a strange thing happened; a wonderful, unexpected turn of events. Instead of flickering out, the candlelight rose into the sky, like ascending lanterns. They hovered, and then slowly burned out, after rising almost as high as the stars themselves. Soft wisps of magic accompanied them, and Alec knew, with an aching familiarity, that it was a warlock’s doing, likely a group who wanted to remember their fallen with a little something extra.

Quiet footsteps fell, coming from his chambers, but Alec recognised the sound of his friend’s voice in a heartbeat;

“Alec?”

At the sound of Jace’s voice, the prince slowly turned around, wiping his sleeve across his burning eyes as he did. When he found Jace standing there, slightly leaning against the pillar, he could hardly bring himself to smile at his friend.

After a long pause, Jace continued to wait. When Alec didn’t speak, he came over to stand beside him. He watched over the procession for a short while, the pair sharing the silence like a last goblet of wine; bitter and lukewarm.

Finally, Jace angled his head, and said the words that Alec had been both longing, and fearing to hear.

“It’s time, Alec. We have to bury him soon.” As he spoke, Jace clasped both hands around Alec’s neck, gently turning him towards him. “Go and say your goodbye," he quietly told him.

Alec started to cry again. This time, he didn't try and stop it. He buried his face into Jace’s shoulder, clinging to his friend, gripping tightly.

“I loved him, Jace," Alec said into his shoulder, sniffing. 

“I know.” Jace soothed, rubbing the prince's back with a comforting hand. “I know you loved him. He knew it too." Jace pulled back, resting a hand against Alec's neck still. "I would give anything to bring him back for you, Alec, but it’s impossible." Jace wore his sadness openly, and Alec felt oddly safe by seeing it. "You’re not alone in your grief," Jace promised. "You will always have me. I’m never leaving your side.”

Alec drew in a few breathes, steadying himself. The stars were still bright, but the moon was back behind the clouds. 

“Jace," he began, slowly. "I think…I think a part of me never came back from the island.”

It was painful to admit, but he had to say it out loud. Someone had to hear it. Alec trusted Jace with his life, and his soul, which he now bared for his best friend to see.

Jace gave a small nod. “I know," he sympathised. "It might not come back, Alec, and I’m sorry for it. truly. If I could take your pain, I would." Jace looked away, glancing down towards the burial. "You've got to keep going. We all do."

_It’s what Magnus did,_ Alec thought. _Time and again, he was consumed by loss, and carried on. I can do it to. I have to. For my people, and in his memory._

Jace kept his promise. He stayed by Alec’s side all the way through the castle, as they later made their way through the halls and passages. Jace never once offered false hope, or denied Alec's pain. He just stayed close by. He waited until they reached the double doors leading to the second chamber. Jace nodded.

“I’m outside if you need me,” Jace quietly promised. “I won’t listen, but I’m here. I'll stay until you're ready to come out. I'm also here.” Jace reached out and rested a hand over Alec’s chest, smiling softly.

Closing his eyes, Alec steadied himself, counted to three, and pushed open the double doors.

He closed them behind him, shutting out Jace, the castle, and the world. 

_It's time._

Alec had been prepared for silence. He was ready to see Magnus laying on the raised marble platform and keel over, collapse, or break into a thousand tiny pieces that refused to become whole again.

What he found most unexpected was the gentleness. It washed over him, lapping around him gentle waves. His heartbeat had been racing, but now, it stilled, and lulled to a rhythm of magic, peace and quiet sorrow. The ache hadn’t vanished entirely, but it was subdued.

It was then, as Alec glanced around the spacious chamber, that he saw the cause of it.

The room was _alive_.

Beautiful tendrils of magic floated up, above, and all around. Blues and lilacs and soft forest greens; they all hummed in that pleasing sound that Alec had come to recognise as magic itself, as the entity of power that warlocks belonged to, and birthed. Some danced across the air, settling around the torch sconces, their flames flickering at set intervals within the walls.

The ribbons of magic weaved around the room. In a daze, Alec reached out with a hand. He tentatively brushed one of the wisps with his fingertips. Tingles echoed in every fibre of his body. Alec gasped, images teasing at the edge of his mind. He saw Magnus’ face, and a stranger’s; with scarlet skin and wolf eyes. They shared a meal together, laughing, and the emotion in it was from a place of fierce respect, and friendship; mourning, but remembrance.

As Alec pulled his hand away, sharply, he gasped.

These weren’t just leftover ribbons of magic from the visiting warlocks, and Magnus’ mourning friends and people.

These were _memories_.

They had been left inside the room; dozens and dozens of memories keeping Magnus’ body company, like that of an old friend. Some of the memories sung of hope and laughter, of adventures he had shared, and lives he had changed.

Tears began to fill Alec’s eyes again. Magnus was surrounded, as he always should be, by life and love. This though somehow made it bearable for the prince to approach the resting figure.

Raised on the marble block, Magnus’ body was covered by a thin sheet of silver silk. The marble catafalque holding up his body was speckled gray and black in colour, reaching the height of Alec’s hips.

As he approached it, the curve of Magnus’ body struck Alec as terribly intimate. It was spiteful, to be this close to Magnus, to recognise the slant of his nose, and the sharp angle of his jaw, and to see the outline of metal rings against his fingertips.

The silk that covered the warlock’s body was shimmering slightly. Alec hated, _hated_ , that it reminded him of the stars once again.

“Magnus,” Alec tentatively began. He remained as still as possible, commanding himself to be honest, but brief.

But even in death, Magnus still brought out this cherished desire in Alec; a longing to hold, and be held. His fingers itched to stroke a cheek that would no longer blush. His eyes begged him to throw back the silk sheet, to look upon the beautiful warlock laying beneath.

“Growing up, the first lesson I learned was to separate the head and the heart. To rule with both seemed…difficult. Impossible, even. I guess I kept a lot of questions to myself, learned to ignore them to the point of denial." Alec swallowed. "And…then you came along.”

Alec rubbed his finger and thumb together, closing his eyes as he paused for breath. He searched for the right words; the frightening ones, the honest ones.

“I just wanted to tell you this, even if you can’t hear it.” For the sake of his sanity, Alec let the possibilities that Magnus wasn’t there at all go. He imagined that Magnus’ soul was dancing alongside the wisps of magic, listening to the prince’s words.

In the safety of this faith, Alec could breathe again. The man he loved was listening. He would _know_ that Alec was trying to give him the goodbye he deserved.

“You didn’t just save a kingdom, Magnus. Before that, back at the beginning, when our biggest problem was seeking out a myth…you saved me. Well, you made me believe that I could save myself. You guided me from this…emptiness,” Alec said, his voice strong as he let the gratitude, and love, warm his heart. “I won’t disrespect your memory and return to it. I promise. I am wiser because of you, and i will laugh because you taught me to see that nothing lasts forever. Even if we only had a little while, it was enough. Every second with you was a lifetime.”

He sought out Magnus again, before glancing up, and watching the quiet trails of magic weave through the air above them.

When he felt calmer, Alec finished, “I only hope that you don’t regret me being your last love.”

This was what frightened the prince most of all. He’d known, ever since he’d met, and fallen in love with the warlock, that Magnus would be his first, and last love. But for an immortal being, Magnus hadn’t known that Alec would be his final kiss, his final touch, embrace, and lover.

Something about that wasn’t fair to Alec. He inhaled sharply, the promise to keep going urging him on.

“You will always be with me, Magnus, _always_ ,” Alec quietly promised. “In the small, quiet moments, as well as the grand victories. You’ll be in the last light before the bedside candle burns out, and in the solitude of the stables and gardens. I will see you every time I look to the stars. Every amber stone will reflect your enchanting eyes back to me. I will lose count of how many times I see your face in the crowds, or in that stranger disappearing around the corner. I’ll tell myself that they were you, that you’re nearby, close to me.”

Tears started to prick at his eyelids. Alec sighed, waiting for them to fall. Had he really not run out yet?

A small, faint green ribbon of magic fell down. It settled briefly on Alec’s shoulder.

The memory took his breath away. It was one of Catarina’s. In the memory, the pair were dancing together, lost in the music of soft strings and surrounding laughter as they waltzed around the hall. It appeared to be a castle celebration, but it was from long ago. Alec didn’t recognise any of the interior, only the soft expression Magnus wore as he looked fondly across at his friend.

When the memory faded, taking Alec back to the magic-filled chamber, and Magnus’ fallen form, the prince decided – whether or not he was even close to being ready – that it was time.

Alec extended a hand, and placed it beside Magnus’ covered face. He couldn’t bring himself to lift the silk, to reveal the cold skin, and lifeless eyes.

He wanted to remember the warlock in his fullest nature; in joyful grins, soft movements and sharp intelligence.

“I’m so proud to be a part of your final days,” Alec said quietly. “How many people can say that they loved an immortal, and that he loved him in return?” If he had any energy left, he might laugh, or shake his head fondly. He saved it for later. For now, he needed to do this. “That’s something, right?”

He paused, smiling. “Thank you for giving me all the moments, all the days we spent chasing down the next adventure. I’ll spend my remaining days keeping your memory alive in every rule and every law that is made. This kingdom still needs you, and I’ll see to it that you’re there beside me, even if it’s not in the way either of us wanted.”

Alec slowly withdrew the flower he’d prepared, slipping it from the belt around his waist. The white rose that Luciana had given him was long dead, and so Alec had sought out Catarina's help. She'd smiled at his request, and helped, weaving up a new flower with a bittersweet look. 

As he twirled the new rose around, Alec said, “I know you’re not in hell. You don’t belong there. I just…i hope you’re not waiting for me. Please, Magnus, be free,” he quietly implored. His finger brushed one of the stem’s thorns, and he hissed. The sound escaped, breaking his previous calm, and with it, tears started to fall from his eyes, the goodbye fast approaching.

“You’ve walked this land for years and years,” Alec whispered. “It’s okay to lay down the sword. I’ll fight for the both of us now,” he promised.

As he rested the flower atop Magnus’ resting form, Alec finally let go. His shoulders shook uncontrollably, and he lifted a hand to cover his throat, trying to hold back the torn sobs.

Still, amongst the tears was a distant, welcomed light. It pulsed, trying to warm the darkness, to warm the hollowed heart that Alec was desperately trying to heal.

The rose was red and white, speckled and unique, and it would be buried with him. Alec would see to this.

“It was always both,” Alec said softly. “Light and dark, life, love and death." He studied the rose, and almost smiled. "That’s our story, and I’ll tell it like you wanted; in full. This isn’t the end. I’ll see you one day,” he vowed, cupping a palm around Magnus’ cheek. Even under the cover, it was cold to the touch. Alec swallowed, quickly pulling away again.

“We’ll find the stars together. One day.”

_Goodbye._

He’d adored, cherished, loved and lost him, and now, it was time for Alec to undertake the slow, painful task of moving on.

With one last look at Magnus’ curving figure, and taking comfort in the vivid, soft colours that surrounded him, Alec turned to leave the chamber.

At the door, he hesitated, and looked, one last time.

“I wanted to marry you, you know,” Alec admitted, barely a raised whisper, but he needed to say it. “I wanted to give you flowers, and court you, and…make it possible that a love like ours could be accepted. It was what we both deserved. You will always be with me, Magnus Bane. You’re in my every step, and second, and sigh.”

He smiled.

“I love you. Now, and until the last sunset of my life.”

When the door closed behind him, Alec’s heart felt constricted, and freed. More than ever before, he was lost, and yet, Magnus’ love had always been a growing one. Death didn’t prevent it from blossoming, and it was only then that Alec realised this.

_Love doesn’t end because of death. It ends because people let it go._

Alec would let Magnus go, but he wouldn’t destroy their love. It would be held like the last line of a song inside his heart.

With that, he let the doors close, and the magic disappear from view.

He would live, and grow, and love, in Magnus’ memory, and honour.

But Alec knew he’d never love another in this way again.

~

Time was a strange entity.

Mortals and downworlders and creatures all made one mistake in approaching it.

They saw it as a single stream. It was one consciousness to fear, or embrace, or try and command.

The truth of the matter was that no one could ever understand it. Not really.

When Magnus woke up, having little memory of ever falling asleep, he would soon realise this. He’d come to terms with how little he knew about the world. As old as he was, he was young compared to the birth of all things.

He felt time between his fingers like grains of sand. Only, he couldn’t grasp it. It slipped against his palms, cool and forever changing, moving, and then going backwards. No, it was hurtling forwards now, and crashing into Magnus’ mind.

_Where am I?_

He’d spoken. Hadn’t he?

It felt like his voice, rather than sounded familiar. It was a furious whisper in his mind, and he repeated it again, trying to drown out the thousands of voices, and sounds surrounding him.

_“You have one final task, I believe. We need you to convey a message for us, Magnus Bane."_

This time, Magnus was certain that it wasn’t his voice. Not like before.

Unable to stand, or sit, or anything, Magnus just let his mind wander. It was all that could move; his thoughts, his mind, his fears. He focused on that single voice, that strange, coaxing voice that had beckoned him with a secretive promise.

Time continued to spill out, drowning him in directions. He felt the urge to slip into it, to bathe himself in the freedom of it.

Eventually the image of a tower entered his mind. Or was it his soul? Magnus wasn’t sure what state of being he was in, but power still danced within him, and he clung to it, remained focused. He recognised the sleeping girl within. She was younger, as though she had just fallen under the spell.

_Clary._

If he had been upright, Magnus might’ve collapsed.

What had he said to Alec, and the others? Prophecies had no origin, they simply came into being by a power no one had yet to understand. 

It had been Magnus' gift. This entire time, he'd been the one leading them here. He'd led _himself_ here.

Warmth softened the surprise. He hadn't been a slave to destiny, he had chosen this path, and now that he had the choice, he did not hesitate. He thought it over, and almost smiled as he wove the message back into the past. He crafted the prophecy into creation, sung it into Clary’s mind as tenderly as he could, gifting it to her with love.

_It was always you_ , he thought to himself. _You made your own destiny after all._  He could have elected to ignore it, and change the prophecy, or change the past. But he didn’t. Magnus repeated it fiercely, blinded by the enchanting light.

_"Thank you,"_ the voice said. _"I am Ithuriel. The Cup was never meant to be on your land. We have waited a long time for someone like you."_

_The Angel of Sacrifice,_ Magnus thought. _How ironic._

When the voice didn't reply, Magnus tried to prepare for whatever would happen next.

But he had no idea. He had admired many different faiths and beliefs, but now, the road ahead was completely unknown.  

_I’m ready now._

He thought it loudly, and honestly. If his final task had been to carry the prophecy, then why was he still here? Hadn’t he given up his life in exchange for the others?

Perhaps this was death. It certainly didn’t feel like any hell he’d been to.

“ _You are free now.”_

Magnus frowned. At least, he did to himself. Someone was speaking, but he couldn’t make out the voice. It was unclear, as if speaking through glass.

_Hello?_

_“The Cup never belonged to your world. Thank you for sending it back to us.”_

There was a power in that voice. Magnus recoiled from its timbre. The thing speaking to him was not human.

_An angel thanking a demon. How ironic._

_“You have fallen angel, demon and human blood, Magnus Bane_ ," the Angel said. "Y _ou are the bridge that bonds many worlds. Lightness and darkness birth themselves within you, a balance of heavenly and fiery fury. The Angels thank you for your service. We have it within our power to…return….you to…-“_

As the voice faded out, Magnus felt himself start to disappear now. Or again? Had he already left this plane of existence? He could feel his power slipping, his grasp on wherever he was falling.

_I gave up my life. How can I be saved?_

_“We wanted a life. Just the one. You gave us many. Lifetimes, even. I'm sure we can leave you with one. But now, you will see that the price was not death.”_

He fell.

Is this what his father had felt, all those years ago?

No. He wasn’t falling after all.

Magnus was _rising_.

Slowly, beautifully, terrifyingly, he rose.

_"Magnus Bane, your destiny is no more. You are free..._

_..._ _**go**."_

~

Magnus sat up with a gasp. And then a groan.

“Bugger,” he mumbled.

And then it hit him.

_I just spoke. Out loud._

The marble block he rested on was cold. He placed both palms on it, and hopped down, feet colliding with the floor.

Where am I?

He glanced around, quickly studying his surroundings. 

It all fell into place. The memory of the island came rushing back, and with it, he remembered what had happened afterwards. Well, what he thought had happened. It was a blur, a hazy, vague feeling, rather than an action.

He'd died.

He'd spoken with an _Angel_.

_I was....saved?_

Magnus closed his eyes, focusing on the usual source of power in his chest. It was still there. Just to be sure, he clicked his fingers, summoning a spark of blueish-white magic. It danced across his palm, and he smiled, enjoying the familiar, curving movement. 

Although his magic remained, something was...diminished. 

Magnus searched carefully, trying to work out what felt different. His power remained, and he still felt filled to the brim with magic.

What had changed?

"Oh."

He spoke out loud again, faintly this time. He'd worked it out.  

_I’m mortal._

His first reaction was to smile, and so he did. He beamed and laughed, pressing a hand to his lips to quieten himself. He glanced up, and suddenly remembered where he was. He'd been taken to the Lightwood Castle. The memories surrounding him overwhelmed him. How many had come to remember him? To mourn him?

He felt tears replace the laughter, throat tightening with emotion.

The sacrifice had been a life. They had taken his immortality. Many lifetimes, as the Angel had said. He'd given up a life, and more. 

But he had his magic. He had his memories, his knowledge, his years of experience and everything that he valued. 

In all the years, he'd never let himself long for, or fear mortality. It was just something always out of reach.

How did he feel about it?

Magnus stared down at his hands, but they gave no answers.

Realisation washed over him. It was a strange moment, but he knew that he had to be careful. As far as he knew, there had never been a mortal warlock. Would he survive for long? Would he simply last a day, and then his magic would overwhelm his now-mortal body?

He couldn't bear to rush in, and spread joy, only to take it away again. So many had loved and mourned him. He couldn't give them false hope. 

_I have to do this on my own._

This wasn't something anyone could work out for him.

A thought, a burning fear, struck him, made him reel backwards.

If he was mortal, his enemies might find out. His _father_ would find out and-

Nightmares of who his father would attack, threaten, to force Magnus into obeying his will. Thoughts of sorcerers and people he’d made enemies out of slashed into his mind like a sword.

What if they had felt his power shift and change? Did they know?

Would they find him?

Magnus didn't know what to do. His heart demanded one thing, and his head needed time to think. Racing into what was now a mortal life couldn't be recklessly taken. 

_Mortal._

Magnus repeated the word to himself. It tasted new, but not unwelcomed.

It was just different.

His fear was still enveloping him. He needed to get out of the castle. He couldn't put a castle of innocent folk at risk. 

There was a reason he'd kept away from his Greater Demon father.

What came next was something Magnus needed to do, on his own terms. He knew that his friends and loved ones would help. Of course, he knew that. But Magnus felt himself smirk, pride flaring back to life.

_I'm not afraid._

And he knew that everyone he loved would understand.

He allowed himself only one more minute of selfish desire. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a thick piece of parchment, and a quill and ink pot. 

Leaning on the marble block, he wrote his first letter as a mortal man. 

He smiled as he wrote it, and then cried, leaning back and giving it a read-over, before smiling again.

It was simple, true, and carried the love in Magnus' heart with tenderness:

 

_“Alexander, my love,_

_I never intended to hurt you, not with my sacrifice, or what I am taking upon myself now. I love you. I always will._

_However, this is by no means a goodbye. Believe me, I want you, more than ever before, but there is a problem I must take care of first. If I can ask you to trust me, and trust that I love you, and am doing this for us, then I shall._

_I don't know if I ever told you this before, but I once dreamt of being mortal. I thought about looking into spells and such, but couldn't find anything. Let's just say that now, I have. I'm mortal, Alexander. I think the Cup took more than a life, it took the lifetimes I could've had._

_I don't regret that. I would do it again; for you, for myself, and for the future we both want to create._

_But I have to be sure that I have a future to offer you. You deserve a full heart, and right now, I am unsure how long I have._

_I love you, with all the magic, mortality and life I have left._

_I’ll be back before the spring._

_With all my heart,_

_Magnus."_

Leaving the letter on the marble block, Magnus quickly added a tracking spell on it. If it didn't reach Alec by the end of the day, it would appear on his person. That way, Magnus was sure he would know. There was no room for miscommunication. 

He wasn't running away. He was making sure he had a future to run _to._

The portal he created was heading for Ash Tower, but before he stepped into it, Magnus still couldn't leave. The letter was a start, but he needed to give Alec something more. 

An idea came to him, and a smile curved at his lips.

Lifting the rose to his lips, Magnus closed his eyes as he chose a memory from his mind. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The spell worked, and he wove the memory of their first kiss into the flower. He poured everything into it, the love, the power of choosing Alec, and everything that came afterwards. He mixed in the love he'd felt then, and did now.

Alec would see it, feel it, and know that he was alive and driven by love.

Magnus placed the rose down, and swallowed. The portal beckoned, swirling gently. 

He was determined to make this mortal life one of free will, and starting it off in fear was not the way forwards. Alec deserved more, and Magnus was adamant that he owed it to himself as well. As he stepped into the portal, Magnus felt the tears brush his smile. It was a bittersweet decision, but the right one.

He had fought for others, and for Alec.

This time, it was time to fight for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very Alec-centric (for obvious reasons, bc sleepy magnus).  
> MAGNUS IS BACK Y'ALL.  
> I've had the prophecy plot twist written since day one, so I hope you liked that! The idea is that the Angels created the prophecy to get the Cup back to heaven, and Magnus helped with that. What a badass, huh?  
> AND MORTAL MAGNUS. A MAGNUS WHO GETS TO LIVE AND GROW OLD WITH ALEC.  
> (you're welcome guys).  
> The next chapter is very magnus-focused, and I promise there's no drawn-out separation drama. Yes, they're apart, but they're in love and will reunite soon. I just felt like Magnus waking up and facing mortality would scare the hell out of him, whether or not he wants it or not. And as well all know, Magnus' father is a raging douche, so he wants that out of the way before he gives himself to Alec. I hope that makes sense, it works in my mind, but yeah *awkward shrugs*.  
> NO ANGST, JUST SELFLESS LOVE (for alec, and for himself too) <3 <3  
> There is a scene in the next chapter between malec that i think you guys will be verrrrrry happy with *innocent smile*  
> COME AND YELL AT ME ABOUT THIS CHAPTER - twitter: @clockworkswan96, tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Until next time! xoxo  
> how perfectly does this song suit the last two scenes though: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Bh6IL1mNfc


	21. The Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone :)  
> This chapter is hopefully going to be one you all enjoy. It has a lot of feels, beware! ;)  
> Twitter @clockworkswan96, and tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Without my big mouth spoiling anything, happy reading!

When it happened, Alec was sitting upright in his bed, a single thread of moonlight peeping in through the window. 

After he'd returned from saying farewell to Magnus, the prince spent a short while in the main halls, offering polite smiles and letting Jace do the talking. They took a few turns about the room, thanking those who had assisted with the funeral procession, before retiring for the night. 

The weight of loss crept up on him almost slowly. It waited until Alec was tucked under the furs of his bed before stirring him. It bit at the inside of the cheek, stung his eyes and wore itself out with vicious thoughts of 'what ifs'. 

Tomorrow, they would bury Magnus, and he would have a kingdom waiting for his rule to begin. 

Just as he closed his eyes, he allowed himself one, small prayer:

_Wherever you are, I love you. If my voice can guide you home, please try._

Sadly he added:

_I'll never stop hoping, even if it kills me._

It was a selfish prayer, but he let the lie befriend his heart. He let it inside, and refused to part with it.

The moonlight dulled, darkening the room once again.

Alec sighed, listening to the sound of his breathing. He was just about surrendering to sleep when a quiet sound cut through the air. It was soft and gentle, like the lapping of a wave. It sucked some of the air into it, like it was transporting something.

Alec sat up, blinking. Startled, he glanced around, unsure of where the sound had come from.

A fluttering movement caught his eyes, and he turned sharply, stumbling out from the covers. He gasped. There was a piece of thick, ink-covered parchment on the windowsill, slowly drifting towards him. Without thinking, Alec reached for it, fingers catching the corner. The paper was cool and thick. He reached for the candle near his bed and with shaking hands, managed to get a small flame going.

He sank down onto the bed, eyes desperately pouring over the content of the letter.

_“Alexander, my love..."_

Alec read the letter once, and then read it again.

By the fifth time, he'd lost count of where the words began and ended. All he saw was Magnus. In the gentle curved writing, he saw Magnus' slow smile. In the darker ink, he saw the warlock's passion and hope, and in the ink blots, he saw hesitation and tenderness, a love that cried out to be patient.

_Magnus is alive._

_He's **alive**._

Before he knew what he was doing, Alec's body took the lead. He flung on his overcoat, raced down the halls - pushing past the protesting guards, too shocked to react - and headed for the second chamber. Hours ago, he'd feared this room, been too afraid to face it. Now, he poured into it like a hungry man searching for scraps of food. He must've made a lot of noise, because a few seconds later, a hand clasped his shoulder.

"Alec, buddy, what's going on?" Jace whispered urgently, eyes wide as he studied his friend. Stark fear flashed across Jace's face, but Alec didn't have the time to sooth his friend. He turned, shook off the shoulder, and rushed up to where the warlock had once been resting on the marble block.

Once.

Now, there was only the thin, silver sheet, resting against the stone.

There was no body. Only the rose that Alec had placed there remained. 

Alec reached for it, needing something to hold onto, something to _feel_ , to touch. As his fingers curled around the stem, the prince gasped. Memories rippled across his mind, the colours so vivid that it was like reliving the kiss all over again. He felt Magnus' body, firm and strong, beneath his hands. He saw amber eyes and kiss-bruised lips, felt the warm water swaying by their waists. 

He felt, without a doubt, _love_.

Hope rose steadily inside Alec's chest. As the memory dulled, and faded after another moment, Alec sat down, heavily, on the marble stone. He cradled the rose, tears greeting his cheeks again, only this time, they reached his smiling lips, lips that no longer felt heavy, or tired, or forced to show peace.

There was no mistaking it now. He had felt Magnus' magic in that spell, in the vividness and the truth of the memory, a memory only they shared.

Jace approached him, his expression still revealing his worry. "Alec?" he asked quietly, holding a hand out to stop the guards from seizing the prince. No doubt they thought he was deluded or mad. 

Alec just held up the letter, too overwhelmed to speak, and after Jace had read it, his eyes widened. He dropped his hand to his side, coming forwards. He wrapped his arms around Alec's neck and held him tightly as he cried, but then the tears turned to smiles, and laughter soon followed. This strange concoction of fear and confusion spun itself into joy. Relief and grief were both familiar to Alec, and now he felt both. 

"He's alive," Alec said. He'd finally spoken it, out loud. 

Just like that, everything changed.

Whatever the reasons for Magnus' disappearance, Alec didn't know. He wouldn't drive himself mad by theorising either.

Because he knew, with feverish certainty, that Magnus would come back when he was ready to. Alec loved him. He loved the foolish, brave, powerful, selfless warlock who would leave him a tender-hearted letter and a memory as both an apology and an expression of love. He loved the man who was impossible enough to return from the dead. He loved the warlock, mortal or immortal, dangerous or kind. He would choose every version of Magnus, and knew that he felt the same.

The trust between them had never been severed, and Alec didn’t tug on it now. He felt safe and secure, and it was only when he smiled that he then cried.

Jace sat by him, giving his friend a little space but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on him.

“Alec, are you okay?” Jace asked, his arm still wrapped around Alec's shoulders, occasionally patting his back.

Alec nodded, laughing but smiling. “Yes," he breathed out, voice hoarse. "I'm so damn okay, Jace." He decided then that he was done crying. He was done hurting and mourning. Magnus was alive, and fighting for their future. Standing quickly, an idea started to spark itself inside the prince's mind.

He considered it, chewing on his lip.

"Jace," he began, quietly.

The knight was up on his feet in a split second. 

"What? What can I do?"

Alec smiled gratefully. "I need your brain, and Izzy's. I want us to see if we can...bend the rules. Just a little."

Arching an eyebrow, Jace's smile turned sharp, and proud. "Dangerous?" he asked, mirth in his twinkling eyes. 

"Depends on who you're asking," the prince said. "The Queen certainly won’t be pleased, but it will help things. When Magnus returns, I mean."

If Magnus had things to sort out, Alec would too, and he would have a nice surprise waiting for him…

As they made their way out of the chamber, Alec didn't look back. In his hands, he held the letter, and the rose, the two pieces of Magnus that he would hold onto tightly. Until the warlock came back to him. Despite the shock and the sheer impossibility of his good fortune, Alec wasn’t afraid, or distraught.

They would see more days together, have more adventures and kisses and fights.

_That,_ Alec thought, _is everything that matters._

As he walked out of the chamber, Alec sent out a second, stronger prayer:

_Thank you for giving him back to me. I won't forget it._

Strangely enough, as he closed the door, Alec swore that he felt - not saw, or heard, but a whisper in the mind - someone reply:

_In return, thank you, Alec. You were both owed favours._

The voice faded as quickly as it arrived.

Alec blinked, decided it was simply a product of his fervent mind, and closed the door quietly behind him.

~

 

Ash Tower stood with its arms open wide as its owner returned home.

In silence, Magnus studied it. It had been almost a year since he’d lived in this space, surrounded by the rising slope of the hill that the Tower rested upon. Ash still fell in soft flakes. As he looked up, Magnus allowed himself a brief smile at the appearance of the phoenix circling the sky above.

_You’re still here,_ he thought fondly. It was a happy moment, just to appreciate the sight of the bird’s colours against the backdrop of a lapping waterfall. Winter winds swirled around Magnus, and he began the short walk up to the steps of his home. The orange blossom trees were frosted over. Their muted gold leaves was pleasant to the eye, the icy coating like frozen teardrops.

Winter had always been beautiful to Magnus. For someone who took pride in his appearance, there was an eternal beauty to nature, as uncontrollable as it was. His magic could manipulate and borrow from it, but he respected its unpredictability, as well as the regularity of seasons.

The accompanying emotions were harder to recognise. He was grateful to be here. It meant that he’d survived, and could slip into a familiar place, and peace of mind. However, as he climbed the steps, running a hand along the curving marble staircase, his stomach clenched. The unexpected twinge was a quiet thing, but it didn’t go away. It stayed with him. There was something lonely in the way it clung to his heart.

He was back at Ash Tower, surrounded by nature and familiarity, but he didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

Lazily clicking his fingers, Magnus reached the top and watched as the door swung open.

Thankfully, the wards and protections had gone untampered with. Everything was as it had been left. Books lined the main, circular table, in piles and neat stacks. The space was open and strangely warm, as though the Tower had kept itself ready and waiting for the warlock to walk back in.

Magnus came to the table, slowly choosing what had been his favourite seat, the throne-like one that Ragnor had gifted him almost a century ago. The cold metal of the chair’s armrest bit into his wrist. Magnus swallowed, glancing around at the empty space.

_You won’t be here long,_ he reminded himself quickly.

It had taken returning to Ash Tower for Magnus to realise that this wasn’t, and likely never had been, his true home. He’d often moved, and changed locations of the Tower for safety. He’d welcomed in strangers and friends alike, but always felt guarded, even when times were peaceful.

_Because_ , he realised now, _this place was never home. It was the people. It was Cat, and Ragnor, and Imasu, Etta, and everyone else who came along._

It was the friends who had shared their time with him, knowing how precious it was. It was the lovers who had shared days, or years with him, all shaping and changing him, bit by bit. The loss and love shaped a huge part of Magnus, but in the end, his home was wherever he felt most loved, wherever those around him were supportive and respectful and loving.

After the realisation, came hope, and with it, came motivation.

With a grin on his face, Magnus flew up from his chair again. With it, his white robes spun out, and he glanced down, grimacing.

_White for mourning_ , he recalled the human customs, _how drab._

He clicked his fingers, and the robes changed into something less bleak and more, well, Magnus. He turned to the nearest, full-length mirror and swayed one way, and then the other, before nodding to himself. He wore a loose-fitting, wine-red shirt with criss-cross ties at the top, and simple, light brown breeches. The belt around his waist was a matching brown, with little tassels that dangled and swung as he moved. He added his favourite necklaces, a dash of powder around his eyes, and rings. Only then he felt ready to continue.

A quiet mewl suddenly came from above.

Magnus only had a few seconds to prepare as his two feline creatures leaped into his arms, using the table as stopping points.

"Oh, my dears," he cried happily, "I have missed you. Yes, I have," he crooned, cradling Church and Chairman Meow in his arms. "Your papa has been on quite the adventure, yes he has." He sat down in the chair, and the cats climbed into his lap, meowing up at him. Magnus leaned closer, burying his face into their furs. He laughed as they took turns swiping and nudging him, clawing at him in their own charming ways of displaying of affection. 

"I missed you too," he said, when Church gave him an exceptionally grumpy look.

He'd allowed them free rein of the Tower, thanks to a spell he'd picked up from a friend years ago. The enchantment supplied them daily with water and food, and he'd carved out a secret hole in the floor for them to tunnel down if they wanted freedom. They were part-faerie cats, and so, Magnus had never tried to keep them locked up. They trusted him, and he didn't try to smother them too often. They'd go out for months on end sometimes, and when they returned, they simply meowed and greeted him affectionately, twining their tails around his arms and legs. 

He laughed as Church decided to give his cheeks a good grooming, his rough tongue wetting Magnus' cheeks.

They'd been an odd family, Magnus, Church and Chairman. 

As they jumped off his lap, and settled amongst the books, he took that as a sign to get back to work. 

Re-dressed, refreshed and ready to power through his affairs as quickly as possible, Magnus began to find some answers. He gathered up all the books he thought might be useful and spread them out across the table.

He sighed. “Let’s get to work,” he muttered to himself. And the cats.

~

He worked throughout the night, pausing to take power naps occasionally. One time he slept for a whole two hours, growing angry at himself when he'd woken. One time, Chairman had meowed loudly into his ear, and Magnus had jumped with a start, but begrudgingly thanked the cat afterwards.

As morning approached, Magnus had found very little on what he was searching for. The records he owned offered no suggestions on Angelic communication, or on the proper conditions to a sacrifice either.

There was no sign that he would die, but also nothing that suggested he was free from fearing it either.

Every so often, he'd summon up some magic, or do a small spell. Nothing serious, just a hair colour change, or moving an object across the table. He was paranoid that his abilities would suddenly disappear. 

As the sun rose, Magnus forced himself to get some nourishment. He was chewing on a handful of grapes, stroking the back of Church's head as they sat together. Chairman had run off somewhere, and Magnus only hoped he wasn't chasing the firebird upstairs. 

A few moments later, Magnus bit at one of his nails. He was only getting more and more worked up. He just needed _one_ sign, one book or record that gave him something to go on.

At the moment, he was blind. He was mortal, and still had magic. Was that even possible?

It wasn’t just that he could give his loved ones false hope. Magnus didn’t want to give _himself_ false hope. The Angel had promised he was free, but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to accept the miracle he’d been given.

That was the truth. Inside, he was more than scared. He was disbelieving. He’d been saved by an Angel and given a mortal life, as well as keeping his magic.

Surely there was a catch, and he was determined to find it.

He was just sifting through an old faerie collection of tales – his desperation now turned to folktales and legends – when a knock sounded from the door.

In truth, it was a demanding announcement, rather than someone offering. Whoever was behind that door wasn’t asking.

Before he had time to summon up even a small fireball, or stretch out his muscles and prepare to fight, a firm kick sent the door crashing wide open.

Two figures stormed in. Two wonderful, foolish, wide-eyed figures.

Indeed, Ragnor and Catarina were wide-eyed, the foot that had belonged to one of the warlocks matched the determination in their strides. They took a few steps into the room and then froze. Their anger softened to relief almost immediately.

Magnus stood before them, studying them quietly. When he could bear it no longer, he cleared his throat.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, tears in his eyes finally giving him away. He’d kept all thoughts of them at bay, but now that they were here, Magnus was so relieved, so glad that they’d ignored his wishes.

Really, Magnus was surprised that they hadn’t rushed in sooner.

“What took you so long?” he asked. His teasing, however, was barely a whisper. Catarina slowly smiled, and Ragnor’s expression held so much tender relief that after that, Magnus’ throat tightened. His own gratitude and relief was catching up with him as his friends came into the room.

Ragnor inhaled sharply. When he exhaled, it was like the truth had finally sunken in. “You really are an idiot,” the warlock snapped, but the insult softened the owner’s tenderness.

“I am,” Magnus agreed, “but you love me for it.”

“Oh, come here,” Catarina cried, and was the first to break the delicate distance between them. She flung her arms around Magnus and held onto him tightly, only pulling back slightly so that Ragnor to slot himself into the circle.

“You really think we wouldn’t follow you?” Catarina said curtly, but her body trembled as she spoke, the relief visible in her kind eyes. “You might have Alec wrapped around your finger, but we’re not as patient,” Cat said. She pulled back, cupping one hand around his cheek and smiling.

“I had my reasons,” Magnus said. “I still don’t know the extent of my return, I could…”

_Disappear. Collapse. Die. Anything._

The unspoken possibilities hung between them like the last embers of a candle. They could burn out suddenly or flare up, taking hold of him. Magnus had no idea which was his future.

Ragnor shook his head, a fond smile curving his lips upwards. “We’re used to saying goodbye to friends,” he reminded the warlock quietly. “Even if you suddenly disappeared, we’d want to be with you when it happened.”

Catarina nodded in agreement. Magnus could do little else to indicate his love, other than embrace them once again. He gave himself long enough to stop the tears, enjoying the reunion he’d wanted, but not given room in his thoughts for.

But now that they were here, Magnus knew he needed them, needed someone – or two. He needed his friends, and they were some of the best he’d ever had. It was also strange to realise that they were no longer the sole occupants in his heart. Magnus adored them, and always would, but to accept that others would not abandon him was both bittersweet and hopeful. It meant having less time with them, but also understanding that each second was precious.

“You two are my greatest sins,” he told them, throat still tight with emotion. “I’m always selfish with you.” He sighed, rolling his eyes as he pretended to debate for a few seconds. “Fine, you may stay.”

Ragnor shared a knowing look with Catarina. “I like that he thinks he has a choice,” he slyly said.

Cat’s grin turned mischievous. “Let him have some dignity,” she suggested, “he did just come back to life, remember.” Her expression turned solemn. "Everyone at the castle sends their love," she said, "but they understand why you left. Just...they're waiting for you. They love you," she said.

Magnus swallowed, tears rising behind his eyelids. He tucked away the faces of the others inside his mind. He'd see them soon, after all, after the work was done here.

At that reminder, Magnus told himself to get back onto the task at hand. “Right, yes,” he interrupted with a grim smile. “Reunion time over. Can you two please get those self-righteous asses to work?”

He was half-turning back to the table again, reaching over to retrieve two more goblets for his guests, when Cat grabbed his arm. He spun back around, arching an eyebrow in question.

“Not so fast,” Catarina warned, holding up a finger. “Did you really think we came along? We’ve been busy ourselves, gathering up helpers. You’ve got a lot of people on your side, you know.” She beckoned with a hand, and Magnus followed, eyes narrowing, as the pair of warlocks led him back outside of the Tower.

As he stood at the top of the steps and glanced down, Magnus didn’t conceal his shocked gasp.

Below, gathered near the nearest tree outside the Tower, stood Luke, Luciana, Maia, Teva and Willow. The unusual group seemed to be engaging in friendly conversation, and Magnus wondered what they’d all united for.

_You._

He blinked, astonished and overwhelmed.

_They came for you. Because they care._

As he quickly climbed down to meet them, Magnus greeted the group with narrowed eyes, still unable to accept the surprise.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked coolly. He met their gazes, some sheepishly smiling, and others – like Luke – simply shrugging and grinning, looking very pleased to see the warlock on his feet again.

Luke confirmed this by reaching out and clasping his hand. “Glad you made it,” the Alpha said warmly. “And to answer your question, we’re here to help. All of us,” he finished, glancing around at the others.

Luciana was leaning against her long blade, chin resting on top of the hilt. “We care about you, obviously,” she added bluntly. “The prince of Idris himself might love you, but as your friends, we get the right to be pushy. We’re not asking you to let us help. We’re going to anyway.”

"It's pointless to argue, isn't it?" Magnus said flatly. He sighed, rubbing away the lines creasing his forehead. 

"Honestly?" Maia asked, grinning. "Yeah, you should probably just accept that we're not going anywhere."

Luke nudged her into silence, smiling fondly but shaking his head. After another moment, the Alpha said, "This morning, in Court, the prince amended one of the Accords," he begun.

At the prince’s name, Magnus’ head turned sharply. “What?” he pressed urgently.

Luke's lips twitched at his impatience. “Downworlders are allowed access to all sources of knowledge, public or private libraries," Luke revealed, "and aren’t restricted to live alone either,” he added pointedly, lips twitching again as he glanced up at the Tower. 

Everyone around him was quiet, waiting for his reaction, but all Magnus could do was smile. He could be thankful later, but for now, there was still the matter at hand as to whether his body could survive his return. 

Sensing his uneasy, restless energy, Catarina smiled at her friend, and slipped an arm through Magnus'. She rested her chin against his shoulder and said, "We’ve gathered a lot of resources for us to look at. Together, we can find something, or someone, to confirm that your body isn’t dying."

She winked."We’ll have you back with your lover,” Cat said the word slowly, with a grin, “soon enough.”

Luciana and Maia shared a grin at the tease, and Magnus quickly narrowed his eyes at the pair. He was in no mood for jesting, but then sighed, admitting defeat.

"You're all going to invite yourselves along anyway, yes?"

He didn't need to wait for a verbal confirmation. It was written in their smiles, in the way they refused to back down. 

Ragnor shrugged, mirroring Cat's pose, and resting against Magnus' other shoulder. "You in, you troublesome bugger?" Ragnor muttered, horns almost poking Magnus' eye out as he turned his head to the left. 

“Do I have a choice?” Magnus muttered, but he couldn’t keep his smile away any longer. It had been a long time since he’d been overwhelmed with help, and now, he had people coming together to help him, and he hadn’t even asked them to.

They’d been there, unconditionally.

“Then, please,” Magnus swept a hand to the side, gesturing to the Tower, “come inside, friends.”

~

Time, as it always did, trickled on slowly and quickly at the same time. The group spent the morning and afternoon at Ash Tower, occasionally portalling to various libraries across the kingdom, or to other warlocks’ homes, who they hoped might have any advice to share about the situation.

The summary of their finding was….well, promising. 

Too promising.

Every person said the same thing: that Magnus being the first meant there would be no clear answers. It was a life he must live, and discover for himself. Although, yes, there has been no record of a mortal warlock, there wasn’t anything _against_ one either, no warnings or legends about balancing magic and mortality.

There was no truth spoken about a warlock who had spoken to an Angel, either.

After that, Magnus walked around with a smug grin on his face for so long that Ragnor actually threw a book at him.

“You’re not blessed,” Ragnor grumpily argued, stirring his tea from his place at the table, “they just didn’t have a choice. You were their only option, you blithering fool, so get that bloody smirk off your face.”

“Darling, he’s been alive for barely a day,” Cat reminded him, sitting beside Ragnor and Luciana. She smirked anyway. “Let’s tone down the insults, hm?” she suggested. She was halfheartedly flicking through a spell book, following a thought that maybe they could use magic to analyse the condition of Magnus’ body. When they did, they found nothing had changed. They could recognise the familiar pattern of his magic, just as they’d always done.

“You’re still you,” Cat said, finishing off the spell with a sigh, “just…mortal. The Angel was telling the truth. You sacrificed your future to the Cup’s magic, your lifetimes," she clarified. "They just returned you with one.”

Luciana had found little in the Seelie archives, but agreed that it was the best option to wait and see. Teva and Willow had visited the Guild, and other warlock settlements, and returned just as empty-handed. Maia and Luke visited the public libraries and shook their heads too, coming up blank. 

If faeries, warlocks and werewolves were agreeing, Magnus thought that he might’ve caused not one, but two miracles. He grinned to himself, shoulders proudly swaying as he gathered up the now-empty teacups and goblets.

When he returned, hands free again, Catarina turned to him. In her arms she held a large, leather-bound records book. It was open to reveal two blank pages. Although solemn certainty was woven into her expression, Cat’s eyes shone with pride.

“You know what this means,” she said. “It means you have to write the first page, and make history.”

A sombre silence washed throughout the room. Even the phoenix above their heads, and the cats, were quiet, waiting for the moment to come to pass. Everyone was eagerly watching, a part of something new. 

Magnus nodded. The book was a heavy, but welcomed wait in his hands. He placed it on the table before him and inhaled slowly, gathering up his wits.

“Very well,” he said.

Until the sun set, the group assisted Magnus in – carefully – relaying the tale. They recorded the event, giving as many helpful details as possible. The story wasn’t elaborate or poetic, just honest. He’d translated the Angel’s words and written them onto the page with careful strokes of the quill. Now, if anything similar happened in the future, a warlock could learn that they too could have a happy, mortal life.

_Hopefully._

The others translated it into their own tongue, copying it down as well in separate books or scrolls. Teva and Willow promised to give a copy to the Guild, and the warlocks who lived in the Shadowlands. Luciana would head for the Shadowlands as well, meeting with other faerie Courts. Luke hesitated, and Magnus was about to step in and offer to be the liaison, when Maia looked up.

“You don’t have to leave Idris,” Maia said quietly, a hand on his, “I’ll go back to the Shadowlands," she suggested. "I know you don’t want to leave Jocelyn and Clary again,” she said quietly, patting Luke’s arm, “so I’ll go.”

Luke inclined his head, gratitude warming his kind eyes. "Thank you," he said. 

Magnus looked at the werewolf girl and carefully said, "The kingdom will be looking to strengthen the relationship between our land and the Shadowlands. Would you be willing to act as a liaison?” Magnus asked. It surprised him how natural it felt to be making these decisions. He knew, with absolute faith, that Alec was doing the same, and had been during his absence. They were strong apart, but together, Magnus knew they’d be unstoppable. Once again, that excited anticipation fluttered in his stomach. He was ready for this. He’d earned it, and deserved the life he was building.

When Maia nodded, Magnus beamed at her.

“Right then,” he said, starting to stack the books into neat piles, “that’s the first affair in order." He sat back down in the chair. "Now, onto the second.”

“The father issue?” Ragnor asked carefully, glancing about as though Asmodeus might actually be waiting for their call.

Not they were going to call a Greater Demon to the Tower.

_Not yet,_ Magnus thought, but he concealed that secret from his friends. Everyone had leaned forwards again, waiting to offer their aid.

This was what frightened Magnus. He had wanted their help in confirming his safety, but this, was something else entirely. He didn’t want them around when his father was summoned, but he couldn’t cruelly dismiss them.

“Yes,” Magnus confirmed. As the last drop of wine touched his lips, he quickly refilled his goblet with the snap of his fingers. He stared at the liquid until his knotted stomach had unfurled a little.

“Do you think he’d be…interested in me?” he asked. “In owning me, so to speak?” This was what he feared. His father was an excellent manipulator, and liked to be ahead of the game. If his son was the first mortal warlock, he’d likely want him to be under his wing.

“I have to summon him before he finds out himself,” Magnus continued on before anyone could jump in with a suggestion. This wasn’t a truth he could bury, and he didn’t want to. He supposed he could spent a lifetime hiding, or concealing his mortality from his father, but if he found out, he’d be furious. Aggravating a Greater Demon didn’t seem like the most sensible idea that Magnus had had.

And so, with a sigh, he said, “I’m going to summon him.” He slowly tasted the words against his tongue. It felt like balancing a thin blade on his tongue; one slight move would slice through flesh, another move would land it between his teeth, in control.

No one protested, but the tension came off the group in waves. Teva and Willow stiffened, no doubt thinking about their own demon heritage.

"Are you sure?" Willow asked, her dark eyes soft as she held his gaze.

He nodded. "I am." When she didn't reply, he continued on, feeling the need to give his friends a suitable reasoning for doing such a dangerous task. “I’m done hiding,” he said. “I’ll have to be careful, but I’ve been around a long time. I think I can watch my words and make a suitable deal.”

Silence stretched around them.

Ragnor was the first to eventually speak. “You’re joking,” he said faintly. He’d even sat his teacup down on the table. That was testimony to his shock. “I can’t believe you’re…You wish to summon a Greater Demon and make terms with him?” he asked quietly, too surprised to cover it up. “I didn’t think you were suicidal, old friend.”

“I’m not,” Magnus cut in, holding up a hand, “really, I promise." He sat the goblet down on the table, clicking his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully.

"Look," he said, trying again, "I’ve had many years to stay away from him, and there’s a reason for that. The obvious being that he’s a manipulative bastard who has a taste for gleefully submitting pain onto those stupid enough to demand something.” He paused. “Here’s the thing. Asmodeus is also a ruler, in his own right. Edom needs a leader, and I’ve never expressed a desire to be its heir, or be its enemy.”

The first to catch onto his meaning, Catarina slowly nodded. "A neutral stance,” she said, “good choice.”

“Exactly,” Magnus confirmed, grimacing at the thought of going to war, or ruling, with Edom. “Greater Demons aren’t your average demons. My father, in fact, once was an Angel. He’s not exactly trusting of those with good intentions. And so,” he said, starting to return to his original point, “summoning him now makes perfect sense. I don’t have anything he can take from me. Not anything he truly desires.”

“He can take your friends and family,” Ragnor argued, but carefully, not wanting to cause a panic. Luke nodded, agreeing.

“I know,” Magnus addressed their points, wincing slightly. “Which is why I needed to do this _away_ from the castle. I can’t have any interference during the summoning. I can’t have Asmodeus associating me with them.”

Cat looked apologetic as she held up a finger, asking, "But...doesn’t he have contacts here?” she tentatively asked. “In this realm? Surely he doesn’t stay ignorant.”

Knowing she wasn't trying to make him feel hopeless, Magnus nodded. Thankfully he knew enough about his father to think otherwise. 

“He doesn’t keep an eye on humans. Can’t stand them,” Magnus explained to the group. “They summon him, and he takes more than they bargain for. It’s the only relationship he has with them. Other than, you know, the obvious,” he added, gesturing to the warlocks who were sitting around the table.

Luciana had been toying with the leather straps on her gloves. She joined in quietly, asking, "So you're going to ask for what exactly? You'll need to be precise. Faeries are tricky by nature, but Greater Demons? They can lie. They can trick." 

"I know," Magnus said, refusing to wince again. He'd known this would be tricky after all. "But I want to cut ties. I want a mutual agreement, as it were. I won’t ever demand his help, or power, or a place on Edom’s throne, if, in return, he leaves _my_ kingdom be." His voice rose with determination. "No wars, no retaliations. Just a divide that stays there.”

After a moment, Ragnor nodded. His expression was less stormy now, his eyes calmer. “ _And_ he can’t take your immortality away as payback,” he added, tilting in his head. Finally, a smirk flashed across his face. “I’m unwillingly impressed by how thought-out this is,” Ragnor admitted.

Magnus winked at his friend. "Exactly," he agreed. "No doubt it would’ve killed me anyway,” Magnus said, waving that thought away quickly. It didn’t matter now. “I know that I’m one of his oldest creations. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m also the most powerful. Mortal or otherwise. He doesn’t want to cross me either. Even if he won, he’d certainly have more casualties than he could handle, and his reputation would be questioned.”

“When are you going to do it?” Luciana inquired, her pointed ears twitching as she cocked her head.

“Soon,” Magnus revealed.

Luke wore a friendly smile, but his eyes narrowed as he said, “Not alone, you’re not.” There was a warning in that, a determination to help.

This settled against Magnus’ ribcage, a reminder that he had to be careful. He was strong enough to protect himself against Asmodeus, but his friends didn’t know how tricky Greater Demons could be. Magnus had summoned many demonic kinds, and knew to be tentative. He wouldn’t risk anyone else, and knew their loyalty would overlook this fact.

So Magnus did what he’d occasionally done, and plastered on a bright smile.

"Of course not," he agreed. "You can all help." The lie was smooth; controlled and natural. He wore it comfortably, and his friends relaxed.

It was what people wanted to hear. Some days, all you could do was lie, because people would rather accept a lie than face the truth, that sometimes, to help, they needed to step away.

Magnus wasn't ignorant. It wasn't a selfless act he was adopting. He trusted his power, and had faith that he could do this. He didn't want to risk anyone else. 

He racked his brains and thought, quickly assigning different things. “Teva, Willow," he began, "I need you two to go to the Guild. Please,” he added with a tight-lipped smile. He handed them a list of ingredients to find at the market nearby. They studied the list together as he assigned everyone else.

"Luke, Maia, Luciana, the three of you can go to these addresses," he announced, presenting them with a scroll. Hopefully that would last at least the night, and although he felt a bit guilty at sending them on useless adventures, at least they would be safe. All the addresses belonged to old friends and potion makers. The ingredients were simple and easy to obtain as well, no risk of selling souls in exchange for fox bones. 

The trio nodded, and Magnus had to fight back the tears again.

They were all so willing to help, to prove their loyalty.

After he'd given them all a fake time to meet up - tomorrow afternoon - they said their goodbyes and rushed out of the door, leaving Magnus with a small smile and a guilty ache in his chest. He was so close now.

Magnus spun around, flashing a bright smile at the two remaining guests. "And as for you, my dears, I have a special assignment for you." He spoke cheerfully, but faking his usual confidence was getting harder by the second. Cat and Ragnor would be the hardest to fool.

“I need you two to go to my place of birth," he said quietly. He didn't state the name of the village, because his friends already knew. He hated using that trust against them, but it was for their own good. Magnus reached for an empty glass bottle and held it out to them. "Gather some of the dirt, but only at this precise time," he said. "It's the most important ingredient," he said solemnly.

Catarina took it, clutching it to her chest as though protecting a child. "We'll get it done," she swore, Ragnor nodding earnestly beside her. Magnus almost flinched back at their unwavering loyalty. He really didn’t want to lie to them, but they’d just lost him, and he understood that they wouldn’t want him gone from their sight unless they thought they were helping.

“Thank you,” he gently said, and took their hands in his, "for everything. You were right. I should've come to you, and asked for help."

At that, they parted, closing the door behind them.

Finally, he was alone again.

He searched around for the cats, and when he found them, Magnus gently urged them into the hole below, and they whined for a moment, before accepting their fate. Church and Chairman moved quietly down the tunnel, and Magnus waited until only silence greeted him before closing up the hole again.

He didn't even trust cats around Asmodeus. If he knew Magnus cared for them, they would become an easy target. 

Rolling up his sleeves, Magnus gathered up the truthful ingredients. It wasn't much. The spell was the main thing, and he'd known that for years, just in case a situation like this occurred. 

He was ready to summon the Greater Demon.

He was ready to summon Asmodeus.

~

"Well, this _is_ surprising," a voice hissed out from the gathered shadows.

Magnus stood outside the circle, already feeling the pressure of containing his father's powerful being. He'd yet to take a human form, so Magnus was left staring at thick, stormy shadows. They swirled around the circle, occasionally lashing out, trying to break the spell.

But Magnus' power kept him in check. He hid his fear, closing it off behind a iron door inside his mind.

"How long has it been?"

The unsettling rhythm of the shadows made it hard to focus on one point. This was what Asmodeus wanted. 

Magnus decided to remain silent.

He was rewarded with what sounded like a sigh, the rumbling sound trembling the floor of the Tower. A few seconds later, the shadows gave a piercing hiss, and then, slowly spiralled into a form more easy to focus on.

Asmodeus stood before him, looking frightening ordinary. But whereas others saw a tall figure with sharp teeth and cunning eyes, Magnus saw the slit-pupils and knife-like nails on his father's hands. He felt the tremendous power coming from him, in waves of energy that, thankfully, were contained in the pentagram. His robes were velvet, blood-red, matching the thin scar on his cheek. Magnus wondered who had inflicted an injury onto a Greater Demon. He feared that they certainly hadn't lived to tell that tale.

"I don't like repeating myself."

Magnus steadied himself, lifting his gaze back to his father's curious look. 

“One hundred and three years,” Magnus eventually replied. He kept his words simple, but didn't lie. This needed to be a conversation, not an attack. 

"A long time," Asmodeus mused, running a pointed nail against his chin. His smile turned cruel as he asked, "Did the princess love you afterwards?"

This time, Magnus almost flinched back. How did his father remember that? Granted, it had been the only time he'd ever summoned him.

Asmodeus continued on, blissful in his enjoyment of Magnus' displeasure. "They are not fond of the truth, are they?" the Greater Demon sneered, sharp teeth snapping. "Petty things, humans. Corrupt judgements, easily breakable." His eyes grew distant, almost tenderly so.

And then he asked, "Have you ever broken a mortal’s spine? They crumble like sugar.”

When Asmodeus laughed, it was a low rumble, a mountain shifting its plates.

The disgust Magnus felt was hard to cover up. He tried, but Asmodeus narrowed his eyes at his son. After another moment, the Greater Demon accepted that whatever small talk they'd been having had come to an end.

"Let's not waste more of my time," he snapped. "Why have you summoned me?"

Flames were flicking, low against Asmodeus' ankles, containing him in the summoning circle. Still, Magnus kept his hands slightly extended, ready to snap his fingers and close the door to his father's realm again at the slightest sign of danger. 

Asmodeus blinked, and it was only then that Magnus realised it was the first time he'd closed his eyes. It was unnerving, his stillness, especially when Magnus himself was so fond of movement, and using his entire body as the channel of his magic. Asmodeus only used his eyes, the home of its dark magic settling in them, hollowing out his gaze like an abandoned grave. There was nothing human there, or anything resembling compassion. 

"I admit, I am surprised," the Greater Demon said, voice low. "Many of my children have implored for small favours over the years, but never you. You...intrigued me.”

_Delightful,_ Magnus thought. But he wasn't here for father-son bonding. He was here to cut ties, once and for all.

Keeping his eyes trained on Asmodeus', Magnus begun.

"We are both leaders,” he established with the perfect amount of cool conviction. The only movement came from the flames. "And I have no interest in ruling Edom," he said flatly. "I never will. I can promise you that. You, in return, take no pleasure in visiting this world. I would like to make that arrangement…concrete,” Magnus finished carefully.

What might've been surprise crossed Asmodeus' expression. As indifferent as the demon seemed, he only now appeared to be willing to show it. He pushed his foot forwards, hissing as the flames lunged for his toe. He sighed, drawing it back in again. 

"Why now?" Asmodeus asked, when he'd accepted that he couldn't yet leave. "You have had many years to summon me. What changed?” 

Magnus kept his worries beneath the surface. It was even worse for the Greater Demon to be curious. Anger would cool and pride would dissolve, but curiosity only led to one path: the truth.

“I wish to rule this land with a clear head.”

_And heart._

Magnus kept this part silent, and carried on. “This arrangement will no doubt assist both of us in becoming stronger leaders. You will never have me in the back of your mind, no matter how tiny that threat is,” he added quickly. His chin lifted. “I am one of the oldest of your children, and I promise that I will never step into your kingdom. I will never threaten your rule, or your reputation. None of my actions will be associated with your name.”

“You want freedom,” he said. “I see the benefits for both of us, yes, and yet, you have not satisfied my hunger, I’m afraid." Asmodeus cocked his head to the side and repeated, "Why now? What made you want to risk everything and face me? What-"

His thin lips pulled into a scowl. "Hell," he cursed. His expression was merciless as he sneered, "You are in love, aren't you? It's the one useless crusade that even my children cannot steer clear from. I thought you were better than that."

Magnus refused to look away first. He said nothing.

The flames licked a little higher, now reaching Asmodeus' legs, bathing him in fire. Asmodeus didn't flinch or smile, but his eyes flashed, an unfeeling craving dancing in his pupils. 

"This changes everything," Asmodeus said. He looked pleased now, but Magnus didn't care.

_Let him think he's winning._

Asmodeus swept a hand in front of him, petting the flames like they were a creature he owned. He smiled as they burned the inside of his wrist.

“Very well," the Greater Demon finally said, turning to acknowledge Magnus again, "I suppose I can accept this _arrangement_." He lifted a forefinger, the sharp nail catching Magnus' gaze. "I will neither harm nor help you, from now until the day you die, and in return, you will not be tied to my great name, or step inside Edom.”

His father's summary was appealing in every way. It was exactly what the warlock wanted to hear.

But Asmodeus knew this. He was throwing out a hand and hoping Magnus would foolishly rush to shake it, before realising that it was a chain that would never break. He'd be trapped forever if he didn't ask for the details of the arrangement. 

He knew his father's ways. Magnus wasn’t foolish enough to smile, for he knew what was coming next.

“I will, however, demand payment for the summoning," Asmodeus begun. "My time doesn't come for free, as you already know." 

And there it was. He'd known a cost would be demanded, but Magnus only hoped he could manage what it was. 

He nodded, folding his hands in front of him. He didn't fiddle with his rings, or move at all. His stillness was the only weapon he had against Asmodeus. His passiveness would be his protection. 

“What is your price?” Magnus demanded. 

“Three years-”

“One.”

At his interruption, Asmodeus sneered again. “You dare bargain with me?" This time, he raised his voice, and it was enough to make the floor shake again. "You are not in the position to be bargaining, unless,” he lowered his voice, grin turning feral, “you wish to beg?”

Magnus didn't give his father even a second of victory. "You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" Magnus said tonelessly. "Tears, begging, hopeless pleading and regrets." He feigned disinterest, looking around the room. "You won’t get any of that from me. It’s why you’ve stayed away from me. You don't understand me, and so you fear that I'm uncontrollable."

The Greater Demon paused. It was the closest to a hesitation he’d ever seen from him, and likely ever would see. Magnus waited, keeping his expression nonchalant. There was a risk that it would anger Asmodeus, but thankfully, his pride didn't rise up.

Instead, Asmodeus said, “Two." He didn't give Magnus a second to process this offer, and added, "Do not question my patience.”

Magnus wasn't going to. He was surprised he'd been able to bargain and remove a year.

Still, two years was a long time, whether it was taken from him now, or later. He wanted to ask for details, but he couldn't seem desperate. He waited. 

Asmodeus disliked the silence, Magnus could tell. He kept eyeing up the flames, occasionally running his hands through it and hissing again. 

"Two years is a long time," Asmodeus said slyly. The innocent smile was tainted with twisted enjoyment. His sneer stretched his pale skin across his sharp bones. "Are you sure that you are willing to offer me that time? You haven't become more...fond of it, in your recent years?"

As his cold eyes narrowed, a shiver ran down Magnus’ back. It spread a cold flush across his neck.

_He knows._

Somehow, Asmodeus knew about his mortality. Magnus hazarded a guess that he'd felt it as soon as he was summoned. He quickly left that question behind. Magnus didn’t care how, but he certainly still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having control.

He faced down with the Greater Demon, refusing to apologise. “I hardly doubt anyone else is going to make this offer to you,” Magnus coolly said, “I don’t think you want to be playing games with me either."

Rather than reacting violently, the Greater Demon looked somewhat impressed. He hid it well, but Magnus caught the twitching corners of his pale lips. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disgusted that his father was approving of his display of power. Magnus was simply playing by Asmodeus' rules, responding to the delicate game battling between them. 

Asmodeus curled a hand into the flames, now reaching his hips. “I’m still waiting for an answer,” he said flatly. 

Magnus agreed that it was time to read the finer print. "I presume these two years will be taken from me?" When his father shook his head, Magnus narrowed his eyes. "In...Edom then?" he asked hesitantly. When Asmodeus nodded, just a fraction, Magnus finally understood the wrongness of what he was agreeing to. His father wanted him to serve him in Edom for two years. Had he been immortal, Magnus would've agreed instantly. Two years was worth giving up for a lifetime of freedom. But he had Alec to think about, and he couldn't, wouldn't, abandon him for that long. 

_He'd understand._

Magnus hated how true that was. The prince would understand. He'd probably do it himself, if the situation was reversed. 

"I’ll serve you for two years in Hell and then the agreement begins?" Magnus asked, using the time to clarify, rather than panic. "No interference in the other’s affairs, and you’ll keep your…followers, away from me and my kingdom?”

“Yes,” Asmodeus agreed. The fire was licking at his torso now, slowly climbing as the summoning spell weakened. Magnus had opened a door to the realm, and he feared what would happen if it stayed open forever. 

He was running out of time.

It was Asmodeus' turn to show rare honesty now. "My realm has become weakened recently,” he admitted. "The land needs more magic, and you, have a great deal to offer it." He cocked his head. “I’ve always been proudest of you, you know,” Asmodeus revealed, but there wasn't any affection in the words. “You were the most powerful of all my creations. I was always…disappointed that you never used your abilities in better ways.”

Again, Magnus hid his shiver. He knew what _more_ meant to the Greater Demon. Ruling demons, living like a prince to a kingdom he’d never chosen. But Idris needed Magnus, and he needed the land too. It needed someone to represent downworlders, and with pride, Magnus lifted his chin. He was ready to do that. 

Magnus reminded him, “I no longer have anything of use to offer you.”

He was starting to feel the energy draining from him. He'd have to start tapping into his own magic soon, when the pentagram started to weaken. 

“Not quite yet,” Asmodeus pointed out. “I’d like the satisfaction of taking a couple of years from you at least. It’s a little unfair otherwise. I can't have my offspring forcing my hand."

_You always have to take more than you give,_ Magnus wanted to snap. But he'd known this would happen, and actually, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. This was a small price to pay for a lifetime ahead of him. If he didn't, he'd forever have Asmodeus in the back of his mind, fearing he'd use his mortality against him. 

Asmodeus finally, and slowly, extended a hand out to him, holding it out amongst the flames. 

“So we have a deal?" the Greater Demon asked. "You’ll come to Edom, and in return, upon your final day, we will no longer be afflicted with the other. You have nothing I want, and I, apparently, cannot offer you anything you’ll accept. Not power, or wealth, or your own realm." When Magnus said nothing to this, Asmodeus sighed, lips thinning out in disapproval. "How disappointing you have become."

"Forgive me for my human nature," Magnus said coldly, "I get it from my mother."

The bitterness wasn't lost on Asmodeus. He smiled slowly, as if taking credit for the many children he'd birthed, and the innocent women he'd tricked and deceived. 

Realising that the flames were nearing mid-waist now, Magnus shook his head. There wasn't anymore time to be mocking. 

Asmodeus sensed that the end was approaching too. He said, "I’ll give you a day to sort out your affairs-“

“No,” Magnus swiftly cut in. He smoothed down the wrinkles in his shirt, and then stopped, mid-brush. What did it matter what he wore? Edom was Edom, and he had to start now, otherwise he'd simply say 'screw it' and live with fear.

“I’m ready now," Magnus told him. He took the first step, toes edging over the painted lines on the floor. "Let's make the bargain.”

“No farewells? No one to miss you?” the Greater Demon cooed. He laughed as the flames sunk into his arms, wrapping around like whips. His dark eyes sung with dark pride as he said, “Perhaps we’re more alike than you think after all.”

Magnus closed his eyes, shutting out the cold laughter. He thought of staying without Alec for two years. Could he bear it? Would he even have a love to come back to? He thought of his friends, who would return and realise what he'd done. They'd forgive him, of course. There was no mistaking that.

And Magnus knew, suddenly, and sadly, that Alec would wait for him. They had survived much worse than this.

When he opened his eyes again, Magnus shut out every fibre in his body that screamed for him to pull away, to stop and think. The flames had reached his father’s waist, the glow burning brighter by the second.

There wasn't any other choice. He had to seal the deal and free himself from his father. 

“Then,” Magnus began, "I, Magnus Bane, agree to offer two years of my life, and my services to Asmo-“

He didn’t get to finish extending his hand, or speaking.

The deal was interrupted, broken as the door burst open. Ash Tower was suddenly filled with two more people.

"Fool," someone snapped, and this time, the anger wasn't coming from the summoned demon, but from the two warlocks rushing into the room. 

_No, no, no, no-_

"What are you both doing here?"

"You tricked us, you bastard," Ragnor snapped, curling a hand into Magnus' arm. For a moment, he thought his friend would hit him. His expression was so angry. And then, as Ragnor exhaled, Magnus saw the true emotion storming below. He wasn't annoyed, he was hurt. Beside him, Catarina had other ideas. She was standing before Asmodeus, separating the pair and refusing to let Magnus shake his hand.

"Get out," Magnus snapped. "Right now." He held up his hand, ready to force them into leaving, but his friends remained stubborn.

"We're stopping you from making a huge mistake," Cat implored, her kind eyes flicking between the Greater Demon, and Magnus. Her arms were half extended, protecting Magnus from the demon he’d been seconds from following into hell.

Hissing out, Asmodeus' face flashed with livid fury. "What’s going on?” he demanded.

Magnus really didn't want to agree with Asmodeus, but he found himself doing so. 

"Leave," he commanded. 

Catarina shook her head, and held up a hand to silence him. "Stop being an idiot," she said curtly. "We can help.”

“You're too late," Magnus lied. “The bargain has been struck."

"Not yet," Ragnor protested, and he joined Catarina as they blocked him from clasping Asmodeus' hand. "You were really going to sacrifice yourself again?” Ragnor curled his lip. “I always knew you were dramatic, but this is ridiculous," the warlock muttered through gritted teeth. His horns caught the light, shining almost as bright as the flames. "You are not going to give up another day for anyone, do you hear me?"

Catarina nodded. “I agree. Not quite so harshly, but yes, you are being a little foolish, dearest.” For a moment, the ring of fire, and the demon inside, was forgotten. Catarina touched his cheek gently and quietly said, “Let us do this for you instead, hm?”

She said it so casually that it didn’t hit Magnus until he heard his father chuckle.

“What…. _good_ company you keep,” Asmodeus sneered, finally breaking their argument with a chuckle. He drawled out the word like it was a poison. He even withdrew his hand with lightning fast speed. “So," he said, inclining his head to the newcomers, "you wish you change the deal?” 

There was too much glee in his eyes. He was finding a way to hurt Magnus, to take something even more precious from him. 

“No,” Magnus snapped. Again, he tried to lunge, but Ragnor and Cat held him back. She turned to face Asmodeus, her blue skin a warm burst of colour compared to the demon's faded skin and cold eyes. She lifted her chin, fear replaced by pride and strength. 

"Two warlocks are better than one, don’t you agree?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly.

Ragnor bowed. “It would be our honour," he added. 

Asmodeus liked this. He stretched, standing taller. The flames brushed his shoulders. 

“How heroic," Asmodeus settled on the word like a curse, taking in the two warlock's suggestion. He glanced between them and said, "I was intent on dragging my foolish offspring back to his true home, but this does seem…enticing. Separating you from your friends is an equally sweet price to pay for your freedom."

"No," Magnus said faintly, horror settling into his chest. He wouldn't allow this to happen. Somewhere inside, a smaller, secretive part protested that this was a better option. To let Cat and Ragnor make the deal made sense. They were immortal, he no longer was. They would have each other, and were strong. It would mean Magnus was free to be with Alec. And two years wasn't a long time.

But still, Magnus' heart gave an almighty lurch. It wasn't in him to stand by and let others do the work. 

“Then it’s settled," Ragnor was saying.

Dizziness swarmed around Magnus, and for a few seconds, he thought he was going to pass out. He was still keeping Asmodeus contained, but they didn't have much time left. The door to the realm would soon close, and the spell took a great deal of rare ingredients that Magnus would have to search months for again. 

Catarina held his hand, and for a second or two, there was only her tender smile, honest and pleading. "We knew you were going to do something like this," she quietly said. "I understand why, but, Magnus, surely you know by now that we’d do anything for you. It's our time to help _you_. Please, let us, darling."

“It's a small price to pay," Ragnor appeased softly. He shrugged. 

Magnus didn't mirror their composure. "You make it seem like an hour's worth of basic labour," he muttered. His tongue felt heavy as he tried to push the words out.

Catarina nodded. “To us, it will be.”

“But not to _me_ ,” Magnus protested. He pressed his fingers into his temple, desperately trying to think. "I will have two years without you," he argued, "knowing that I’ll age, and grow, without you to see it. I- I won’t be the same man, and-“

“Yes, you will," Cat interrupted, but not unkindly. There was wisdom in her unwavering eyes, and Magnus couldn't bear how right she was. "You will always be my friend," Cat said softly. "Not a thousand gray hairs could change that.”

“Oh, please," Ragnor scoffed, but he was smiling. He waved a hand in dismissal. "He still has magic to dye that, and it’s just two years, Magnus. We can take it, and so can you. Be happy, dear friend.” With determination, he turned to the face the demon, who was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes.

“Then this is our agreement," Ragnor said, raising his voice. He spoke clearly, without hesitation. "We will serve the Greater Demon, Asmodeus, in exchange for the protection of Magnus Bane, for as long as he lives. There will be no interfering or return to the kingdom."

"You're banishing me?" Asmodeus sneered, looking down on him with dislike. He glanced between the unmoving trio, and then down at the flames, as they touched his shoulders. He lifted his chin, stretching out his neck to pull away from the fire. After a long pause, Asmodeus sighed.

“I’ll never understand how the heart works," he said, not even a hint of empathy in his eyes. “Nonetheless, the bargain is struck," Asmodeus announced, sticking his hand. Quickly, Ragnor gripped his wrist, reaching with the other to hold onto Catarina. A thin, slither of fire coiled around their arms, linking them all together.

Magnus couldn't stop the deal any longer. It was done. His friends had rescued him, but Magnus still blinked away the tears, feeling his heart swell with pride, and sorrow. They had free will, and had saved their friend. Magnus knew he would've done the same, in their place. 

Asmodeus smiled, as their hands untangled, the flames pushed down, lowering to his legs again. The bargain made, the door to Edom would not seal until Catarina and Ragnor had left too.

The Greater Demon smiled ruthlessly. "You will say your goodbyes now," he advised. "I'll see the both of you soon. We have work to do." With another cold smile in Magnus' direction, Asmodeus disappeared, the flames now licking into an empty space. 

As soon as he'd journeyed back to Edom, sickness washed over Magnus, as he grasped what was about to happen. He wouldn't let their moments together be a waste. He turned to Cat and Ragnor, their smiles tight-lipped and hesitant, like they were waiting for him to erupt in anger.

Instead, he simply hugged them, as tightly as he could. He curled his arms around their necks and smiled, pressing himself as close as possible.

"I can't believe you did this for me," he whispered.  

"We love you," Cat murmured, her hand stroking across his back. "And your happiness is worth battling a thousand Greater Demons for.”

Ragnor, in fact, looked a tad bored. "Besides," he said, "I needed a change of scenery.” 

Magnus almost smiled. Almost.

"In Edom?" he asked dryly, but his voice was still shaking, and he was seconds from surrendering to the tears. 

Cat realised this, and tilted his chin towards her, holding his gaze. "What's the worst Asmodeus can do? Really?" she asked gently. "Have a family reunion? Magnus, you've not considered another point. While we’re there, we can learn about the realm. You have a kingdom that needs you, Idris. Perhaps we can make our services worthwhile too. Learning more about Hell realms could prove useful."

Folding his arms across his chest, Ragnor nodded, and for a second, the pair looked like more than his best friends. They were warriors and brave people, ready to turn an unfortunate situation into the best they could do.

"It’ll just be ruling and politics and all that,” Cat muttered, now gazing towards where the circle of flames was still waiting for them. When she turned back, her smile was back. "Now," she said, "go and be with your prince. For the rest of your days. It's what you want, yes?"

Magnus nodded. “More than anything," he admitted.

At that, Catarina returned his tenderness and nodded. "All my love journeys with you, old friend," she said, and leaned forwards to kiss Magnus' forehead. She lingered for a long moment, and he felt a single tear fall from her eyes. “I told you that one day you would feel a once in a lifetime love," she said. "You have it now, and you owe it to us, yourself, and Alec, to give it your all. The time for running is over, my dear. You are truly _home_.”

The flames let out quiet snaps, and the trio jumped. They laughed at the scare, coming to stand closer together as they said goodbye.

“Thank you.” Magnus told them, reaching out to take their hands in his. He tried desperately to convey what he felt, but time was fading. “I will count the days until I see you both again," he said. He swallowed down the fear and said, "Please…take care. I will never forget this," he promised.

"Good," Ragnor said dryly. "I'm expecting much grovelling when I return," he warned, and it was such a Ragnor thing to say. Magnus grinned, shakily but sure, and Ragnor swiped a finger across his cheeks, wiping away his friend's tears. "You have sacrificed many things for us, and for this land," Ragnor reminded him. "It is time we returned the favour.”

"Enough dawdling," Cat suddenly said, her voice bright, distracting them from their tears. She stepped towards the circle, holding out a hand to Ragnor. 

Magnus had to squeeze his hands into fists. Otherwise he was going to reach out and stop them. He forced himself to remain still, and let himself smile as they stood together in the pentagram. Catarina gave him the sign to close the door, to seal the realm away again.

"I expect Idris to be exceptionally promising when we return," Ragnor warned, his smile warm. He clutched Catarina's hand tightly, the pair brave and ready. 

Magnus nodded. "It'll be waiting for you," he swore. "Good luck," he added.

Calling out the few closing lines of the summoning spell, the air sucked in around the circle. It drew in a breath, before exhaling a small gust of wind. It sent Magnus staggering back a few steps, shielding his head between his hands. When he glanced up, the flames were gone. The circle, and the Tower, was empty again.

At the sudden silence, Magnus stumbled backwards, feeling a firm weight pressing into his spine. It was the chair, and he fell heavily into it. For a minute, and then another, he simply stared at the charred circle on the floor. His friends had given him a gift, and he had no idea how to deal with it. Asmodeus knew he'd feel guilty. It was his final parting victory, to take more than simple years, to leave him to deal with someone else taking the fall.

But what Asmodeus didn't know, and never would understand, was that selfless love wasn't a burden to bear. It was a reward. And so, although Magnus felt the tears sting as they fell down his face, there was mixed emotions. He was relieved, terrified, and filled with sorrow at the same time. He had lost two friends, even for a few years, but they had given him a gift. In return for their parting, he could now live, and love, for the rest of his days, without the threat of Asmodeus overhead.

He'd never had that before, that freedom of knowing he wasn't tied to his demon heritage. He could be all that he was, wholly, not fragmented. 

He heard a gentle purr, and slowly made his way over to the hole in the floor, pulling back the small door below. The cats peered up with wide eyes, before jumping back up, and into the Tower. They sensed his distress and curled around his ankles, pawing softly. 

Settling back into his chair, Magnus petted them until he felt calmer.  _I’m not alone_ , he reminded himself. He would see them both again. Two years really would pass by quickly, and now, thanks to them, he had nothing holding him back. The fear was gone.

To give himself something to do, Magnus headed to bed, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It was halfway through the night. He couldn't travel now. His magic needed to rest, and so did he. 

He stared up at the ceiling, lost in quiet thoughts.

It wasn't simple, this life, or any. Magnus realised this now. There was a balance that swung in his favour, and then not. 

But whatever happened, Magnus was determined to chase down his happiness. In the back of his mind, he'd look forwards to the day he saw his friends again, but he was sure, more than ever before, that he had a great deal of love being offered to him. 

For a moment, Magnus swore he could hear Cat laughing, head throw back and hair spilling over her shoulders. He saw Ragnor rolling his eyes, and the pair giving him knowing looks as they teased each other.

The tears that kept him company that night were proud and mournful, joyous and anxious. 

His friends were not gone forever. They'd be back, and he'd be ready for them.

~

Morning arrived, and with it, the sun poured in, and the early Spring blew in a gentle breeze. 

Magnus oversaw his preparations with care. He began to filter through his belongings, working out what he wanted to take to the castle, and then realised that he ought to go and see the prince before presuming they had a shared chamber.

Flushing at his own eagerness, Magnus carefully packed, but left the bundles on the table. He didn't want to rush in and presume anything, however, the growing excitement tickled at his ribs, finally slipping some much-needed happiness into his heart. 

Later, the first guest to arrive back at the Tower knocked sharply on the door.

Luciana's eyes widened as she studied the blackened wood, and the lack of warlocks gathered. She didn't say a word. She simply came, in placed the ingredients on the table, and held out her arms. Magnus stepped into them, hugging her tightly.

With a charming air of determination, Luciana ushered him into his own Tower. She made him sit down, and then proceeded to try and make tea. Magnus watched, a small smile on his face, as his friend brought the tray over, her brows furrowed in concentration. The tea wasn't hot enough, and it had no sugar, but Magnus grinned. The faerie watched him expectantly.

"Thank you, dear," he said.

Pleased that she'd done well, Luciana sat down beside him at the table. She studied the packed bundles, reaching out to curl a finger around one of the leather straps. "I had a feeling this would happen," she admitted. "I should've known you would try and do it alone."

Magnus kept his eyes trained on the tea, not wanting to see disappointment. Not today. He couldn't bear that.

Instead, Luciana patted his hand and asked, "How do you feel?"

Too tired to lie, Magnus just said, “Strange. Part of me is relieved, and then I feel guilty about having that hope, when my friends have sacrificed their time for me.” He cradled the cup in his hands, sighing. 

Luciana cocked her head, frowning. "But..you did it for them,” Luciana pointed out, confused. "Why wouldn't they do the same?"

Her blunt honesty was refreshing, and Magnus smiled back. "Ah, Seelies," he said softly, "you always amuse me." He placed the cup down and added, quietly, "Thank you for being here with me,  _yh anghreed."_

Again, she smiled warmly, eyes shining as she recognised the namesake he'd given her. Luciana really had been a great friend to him. Magnus was incredibly grateful for her presence. 

“You are my friend,” she said honestly, and then her eyes glanced around. "And didn’t you promise that your home would always be open to me?”

Magnus nodded. “Yes. It will be, although my home isn’t going to be here for much longer. I hope.”

“Alec?” Luciana asked, lips twitching.

“Alec,” Magnus confirmed, a warmth finally drowning out the mixed emotions.

“Sitting around here moping isn’t what Catarina and Ragnor want. They’d be annoyed to see this," he admitted, gesturing to his slow packing.

Luciana nodded in understanding, but then her expression turned solemn, her smile wistful. “I spent many days being too afraid to set my soulmate free," the faerie begun. "She suffered because of me. I’ll always carry that regret around,” Luciana admitted. “You,” she said, covering her smaller hand with his, “have been given a blessing. You’re free. You have a happiness that you have earned, and deserve. Please go and run to it,” she quietly said.

When Magnus hugged her, she let out a quiet noise of surprise. Perhaps she hadn’t had a friend in a while either. Magnus was so incredibly glad to have her then, and to know that he would never be lonely, even if Cat and Ragnor were gone for a while. He’d see them again, and they would have memories to share, and time together.

“I must be off,” Luciana eventually said, pushing up from the table. She shot Magnus an impish smile and said, “The coronation is tomorrow, you know.”

“It is?” Magnus gasped. He sat up, quickly flinging his chair back and glancing around. What else did he need to pack? Should he just portal all his belongings into Alec’s chambers? No, he’d never been inside.

_Not yet,_ a sly voice inside said.

Luciana laughed at his startled look. “Oh, dear," she said, chuckling. "So old and yet, so young,” she teased. She kissed his cheek before he could retort. “Have fun, and I’ll see you soon. At the castle,” she clarified, the innocent look not fooling anyone.

“Indeed,” Magnus said, but after a moment, he lost his will to cover it up and let the grin spread. “Is it unfair to be this happy? After everything that’s happened,” he explained, “am I allowed to?”

“ _Because_ of everything that’s happened, you must,” Luciana said. “It’s all pointless suffering otherwise. Now, Magnus Bane, I believe you have a castle, and a prince, to find.”

“I do,” Magnus said, already snapping his fingers and gathering up his clothes and trinkets. “Oh wait. Before you, go, my dear, I have a proposition for you.”

Halfway to the door, the faerie turned back. She cocked her head. “Aren’t you already taken?” Luciana asked cheekily.

He laughed. “I am,” he confirmed, and then gave her a soft smile. “I don’t want to leave this place empty," he said, and waved a wrist around, gesturing to the Tower. "I would like it to be useful to someone. It’s been kind to me."

Magnus came to stand by the walls. He ran a hand slowly down it, smiling as he said, “I think I want it to be a library.”

“Well you’re halfway there already,” Luciana teased, inclining her head towards the piles of records, scrolls and half-open books.

“Precisely. Will you share it with me? Make it a place where everyone can come, and share resources?”

In the silence, Luciana's eyes widened as she realised what he was offering. "You're... giving me the Tower?” she asked, incredulous. In that moment, the faerie looked like a young girl, staring wide-eyed and giddy at the space. 

Charmed, Magnus nodded. "Well, I know you have a place in the Seelie Queen’s Court," he acknowledged, "but perhaps you’d like a separate home as well. I don’t have a key to give you, but I’ll change the spells to obey your commands. A little blood magic, if that is acceptable?”

After a long pause, Luciana slowly extended a hand. Magnus carefully pricked her thumb, and closed his eyes, lips curving to change the wards. When the magic had shifted, from his control to Luciana's, the faerie gasped again. She covered her hand with her mouth, joy lighting up her eyes. He reminded himself that faeries were used to favours, not gifts. 

“There," he quietly said to the shocked faerie, smiling at her. "It’s yours,” he said. “Just promise me one thing, dear.”

Luciana nodded, beaming up at him.

"Fill it with love," Magnus encouraged, glancing around. "Friends, magic, good books, anything that makes you happy.”

"I think I can do that," the faerie promised. Hesitating only a moment longer, she then came up to hug him, pointed ears tickling his cheeks. She whispered, "You're really one of a kind, Magnus Bane."

He hugged her back, grinning as he embraced the faerie. "That's very true, especially now," he added, laughing. "Perhaps this can be a place of liaisons too, the bridge between the Shadowlands and the kingdom.”

He thought back to what the Angel had said:

"Y _ou are the bridge that bonds many worlds."_

It was a thought that stayed long in Magnus’ mind. He’d been witness to many grand events over the years. He’d seen castles crumble and queens defeat the unstoppable. He’d seen the best and the worst of life, and now, he wanted both.

“I’ll return soon,” Luciana promised, rubbing her finger across the already-healing spot on her thumb. “I promised to take Maia to my favourite well in the Faerielands." The faerie rolled her eyes, amused. "She doesn’t believe that it makes wine. I'll show her."

Magnus felt his smile turn victorious at the mention of the werewolf girl. “I’m glad you’re friends,” he said innocently. 

“She’s a pain,” Luciana said, eyes narrowing, “but I like tough spirits, and she’s definitely one of them," she admitted. "We’re both looking for something. Maybe we can help each other out.”

Magnus liked this idea, and told Luciana just as much. "We all need pushy friends,” he reminded her, wiggling an eyebrow. She laughed and agreed with a knowing look.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” the faerie said, and waved her hand as she disappeared through the door of the Tower.

Knowing there was one goodbye left to do, Magnus climbed up to the roof. He saw the phoenix perched on the thin railing, claws clicking against the metal. He smiled as he approached it, but kept a safe distance. Phoenix birds were creatures of solitude, and Magnus had never breached that trust.

He simply said, “Thank you.”

The firebird cocked its head and chirped. It stretched its beak out, and Magnus reached out, letting the creature settle its chin against his open palm. It scratched gently, and then pulled back, blinking as it studied the warlock. Its colours were dull and the feathers were scruffy as they pulled back, preparing for flight.

Magnus took a small step back, waiting. He knew what was coming.

The firebird let out a quiet cry, and then flew up, journeying upwards until it became a speck in the sky. When it was a safe distance away, its cry became louder. It trembled, bursting into ash again, and shimmers of its past life dusted the railing beneath Magnus’ hands.

The old life was gone.

A few moments later, and the bird rose again, a small, trembling thing with wide eyes and burnt-orange and red feathers. It shook itself, shaking off the last traces of ash, and squawked up at the Tower, hovering in the air to look at Magnus.

Magnus inclined his head, surprised to feel tears prick at his eyelids.

The bird, finally, flew away, free and chasing the clouds.

_Goodbye_ , he thought. _Enjoy your freedom._

It was a farewell that set Magnus into motion. He stayed at the top of the Tower, working his way through the many rooms. He knew that Luciana would rearrange things and together, they’d make the Tower into something useful, but Magnus had many items he wanted to stay with him; containing memories and reminders.

He was tidying up the third bedroom when a bang echoed off the walls, coming from down below. It ricocheted against the walls, spiralling up the staircase to reach Magnus’ ears, and he frowned, quickly hurrying back down onto the ground floor.

Whoever was outside was impatient enough to call out, “We know you’re in there, Magnus! Come out!”

The warlock froze, placing the voice in a heartbeat.

He frowned. _Jace?_

Why was the knight here? There was only one way to find out, and so Magnus clicked his fingers and let the door open up.

“I think I’ve had more visitors today than I have in the past decade,” he muttered to himself, waiting for Jace to come further into the room. He pushed in, followed by another familiar face, her dark hair falling in soft waves as she pushed into the Tower.

Isabelle gasped as soon as she saw him, hands reaching up to cover her neck in surprise. Beside her, Jace paused, his expression equally taken aback, as though he hadn’t been yelling for the warlock seconds before.

“You’re ordered to come with us," Jace said, but the demand was spoken quietly.

“Oh, really? By who?”

“By Alec.”

Magnus actually gaped then. "He wouldn’t dare," he muttered, eyes narrowing. Had the prince really not listened to his warning? And could Magnus be angry if he hadn't?

Jace and Isabelle stood their ground, their riding gear all soft browns and leather. 

Torn between amusement and frustration, Magnus sighed. He beckoned the pair in, turning towards the table again. He’d told Alec to wait. Although he understood the need to see him, still, couldn’t he just trust him?

“Fine, then,” Magnus muttered, “you can put those lithe bodies to work.” He gestured to the belongings.

Jace came to stand beside him, groaning. "Can’t you just, you know, magic them into the castle?”

He made a series of flourished movements with his hands that Magnus chose to ignore. For the knight's own good. He wasn't in the mood to be teased.

Jace caught his look and stilled. "Um, that's fine." His gaze softened then, and he smiled. "It's really good to see you, Magnus."

Unable to help himself, Magnus narrowed his eyes even more. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Wayland. I'm feeling vindictive, so you can either carry them, or I can send you back to the castle empty-handed, which I’m sure Alec will adore.”

Only when the poor knight's eyes widened, did Magnus finally drop the act. He grinned. "I'm pleased to see you too," he admitted. Hands suddenly gripped around Magnus' waist, and he felt Isabelle hug him from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder as she peered around to smile at him.

"I'm _more_ happy to see you," Isabelle argued, and Magnus realised how much he'd missed them all. He held Izzy's arms in place around his waist, kissing her cheek and smiling. 

"Hello, my dear," Magnus greeted, the surprise at seeing them slowly wearing off. "I'll be a moment," he said.

He finished gathering up the bundles, sharing the weights out amongst the three of them. Jace didn't grumble once. Magnus took this as a sign that the knight was determined to bring the warlock to the castle, and he knew it was all in the name of Alec. 

When they were outside, Magnus glanced up at the Tower, taking in the snaking vines and icy glass windows. He would be back, but he wouldn’t miss it, not when there was a kingdom waiting for him, and the love of a lifetime.

When he saw the waiting horses, and thought of the ride ahead, Magnus let himself smirk. “Very well, I surrender," he admitted. "I'll make this easier."

He parted the air with his hand, the pressure of the magic quickly summoning a portal. He cocked his head towards it. “In we go, my dears,” he invited, and laughed when Jace practically threw himself through it, no doubt eager to save half a day’s ride.

Isabelle was a bit more dignified, and slowly approached, leading her horse with a gentle hand. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” she whispered before she headed through the shimmering portal.

Magnus stole one last look at the Tower, gripped his necklace, and then disappeared, heading for home, and for Alec.

~

“This way,” Jace said, once they’d left the horses with a waiting stable boy.

“Yes, I know my way around the castle, thank you,” Magnus said curtly, waving off the knight’s smug grin with narrowed eyes. He was silent as they led him through the hallways.

Really, Magnus was covering up his nerves. He wanted to smile and rush across to the throne room, but he also wanted to find a quiet room and wait a while. It was frightening, this new happiness. It draped over him like warm furs, but the warlock knew it would take some getting used to.

Soon, his attention was redirected. As they passed through the long corridors of the castle, people lined the way. They were decorating and making preparations for the coronation. Ladders were placed against walls as servants cheerfully hung ribbons and royal tapestries up. Dozens of footsteps echoed pleasantly off the marble flooring, the people rushing about and joining in with the decorating.

It was a delight to see so many in the castle, and to see that the war hadn’t led to further disruption. Magnus found his worries easing up, and the bittersweet happiness continued to stretch around him. The path ahead was clear, and he walked towards it, towards Alec, and the kingdom, with a smile.

As they strolled through the twisting corners and corridors, occasionally people would linger on him long enough to react. Some gasped, eyes filling with tears, and others even extended a hand, offering him silent gratitude through a simple touch.

Every time Magnus’ hand brushed across a servant’s, or a fellow warlock, or other downworlder's, he bit his tongue to cease the shaking. He was close to crying when they reached the throne room, overwhelmed by the respect he’d seen in the kingdom’s eyes. When he had died, had so many people really mourned him?

The answer was an unquestionable _yes_ , and Magnus was immensely moved.

He passed Raphael, who had arm linked through Simon’s as the boy smiled, squinting a bit. Luciana had told him that he’d been injured in the fight, his eyesight damaged, but he grinned, and Magnus returned it kindly. He passed Luke and Jocelyn, Lydia, Clary and other castle-dwellers. They knew his name. They parted, smiling and in awe.

Magnus had sacrificed himself for the kingdom, and everyone who knew it was offering him their loyalty in return. He’d lost a future, but gained a present that would fight beside him, would love and respect and care for him in a way he’d never had before.

As they reached the towering doors of the throne room, Isabelle and Jace exchanged a look, understanding in their eyes, and Magnus couldn’t be mad at them for very much longer.

Izzy turned to him, her own eyes brimming with tears as she smiled at him. “This is one reunion we’ll let you have without interruption,” she promised quietly, coming closer to squeeze his hand before stepping back again.

With a hand on the door, Jace smirked. “Even I won’t ruin the mood,” he agreed.

The knight surprised Magnus then by placing a hand on his shoulder, his eyes sincere. “Thank you. For everything,” Jace quietly said. His grip was a firm, unwavering hold that told Magnus he’d won more than the man’s loyalty and respect; he’d won his trust, and kindness, the parts that Jace rarely trusted himself to show.

“How do I look?” Magnus asked, spinning slowly around. He was still dressed in the simple, scarlet tunic shirt, and black overcoat, the criss-cross ties half undone. But his eyes shimmered with midnight black, and he knew the shirt was a snug fit, flattering his forearms. 

Isabelle gave a nod of approval, and Jace reluctantly gave a thumb’s up.

“Go and get him already,” Jace muttered, and after they shared an anxious, but calming laugh together, the two knights practically pushed Magnus into the awaiting throne room.

The doors slammed firmly shut, leaving Magnus to take in the beauty of the room awaiting him.

And the man who sat waiting on the throne ahead.

Tall, sand-coloured columns stood tall and proudly. Magnus followed them upwards, stretching his neck to admire the elegant paintings covering the high, arching ceiling. A carpet of thick, rich red was stretching out across the marble floor, and as Magnus slowly followed its path, he came to – finally – study the prince.

Alec was resting on the throne, head angled away from him. He was staring down. He held parchment in one hand, and a rose in the other. His boots were kicked up, resting against the throne’s arm, and Magnus smirked at this careless display. The prince’s thin, gold circlet was an elegant crown. His dark hair was still mid-length, his chin and jaw covered by scruff that Magnus longed to drag his fingertips across.

Stomach lurching at the sign of the flower and letter, Magnus parted his lips, to call out, to whisper, or anything, but his throat tightened and the quiet stretched out.

The slamming of the doors sung out like a bell.

Alec’s head turned sharply to the entrance, finally noticing the warlock suddenly standing there.

The prince jumped up onto his feet, and Magnus gave himself a long moment to appreciate how unbelievably, overwhelmingly good it felt to see him again.

Alec’s sleeveless tunic came to his hips, fitting snug against his broad chest and complimenting the muscles in his arms. It was velvet and black, with dark gold leaves and stitching woven into the material. His long boots were similar to Magnus’, although they were a shade lighter than his black breeches, like the few seconds before ink-gray before midnight closed in.

Desire swirled in with longing, and the feeling pushed desperately against Magnus’ chest. Beneath, his heart thundered, waking up.

He was standing before Alec, but all he could do was stare. Lips parted slightly, but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Alec held his gaze. Slowly, he placed the letter and the rose down on the throne beside him. He took a few steps down from the dais platform, heels echoing out the pattern of Magnus’ heartbeat.

“They…They told me someone important was coming to see me, but…I didn’t let myself hope.”

The prince spoke quietly, expression still caught between disbelief and awe. He kept looking at Magnus as he walked down the length of the carpeted marble flooring.

The warlock had never felt anyone’s gaze as intensely as he felt Alec’s. In that moment, surrounded by light from the wide windows, and red carpets and elegant paintings, there was only the unfolding of a man who was in love with the other, stepping towards him like it was the simplest story in the world.

As Alec stepped closer, Magnus frowned. “What?” he asked. “You summoned me, darling, I-“

He broke off, and Alec paused. They both worked it out in relatively the same second, and started to laugh, shaking their heads in amusement.

“Ah,” Magnus murmured, chuckling, “I do believe we’ve been set up, Your Highness.” He made a mental note to scold, and thank, Jace and Izzy later on. 

Alec was now almost close enough to touch. The details started coming into focus. The soft, yet steady sure tenderness in Alec’s eyes, and the swirls of oak brown and green flickers, grew more and more alive as the seconds ticked by. He didn’t wear a belt, or carry a weapon, and his hands hovered by his sides.

Magnus inhaled, in through the nose, trying to steady himself. He caught sight of the prince’s shaking hands-

“I was coming to you,” Magnus suddenly said, the words slipping out. It wasn’t an apology, but he knew he owed Alec an explanation. “Alec, I was on my way. I wasn’t running, I promise, I-“

“I know, Magnus,” Alec quietly interrupted, “I trust you.” He held out a forefinger, the touch ghosting against Magnus’ lips. The warlock smiled then, the memory of when he’d given Alec the same gesture returning to his thoughts. The prince knew too, because he grinned, full lips curving warmth into Magnus’ weary heart. 

“Is everything…as you want it to be?” Alec asked carefully. He was running his fingers across his palms, looking down.

“Yes,” Magnus replied, hoping it would be enough to sooth the prince’s worries. No doubt he’d been painfully awaiting news. He'd tell him more later, but for now, he just wanted to be with Alec.

Finally ready, Magnus took a step closer, slipping into Alec’s space. He let his hands come up to rest against Alec’s chest. His palms splayed out, fingers stroking over the stitching. Alec’s breath caught, the gasp slipping from his lips like a whispered secret.

“I’m all yours now, Alexander,” Magnus promised, lifting his chin, and finally, meeting Alec’s eyes again.

“You’re mortal,” Alec said, after a long moment. “I understand why you fled, Magnus. You wanted to be sure that you wouldn’t…fade.” He swallowed, but this time, didn’t glance away. He met Magnus’ eyes and all the pain, and the naked honest was reflected through his own.

“I’m here, with you,” Magnus promised, “and we should try and make the best of the time we have together.”

“When I thought you’d died, Magnus, I…I’d never felt that kind of fear before," Alec admitted shakily. "Or loss. It was like someone had clouded my lungs with dust. I didn’t know how to breathe anymore.”

“I didn’t know,” Magnus suddenly said. He lifted his hands, cupping either side of the prince’s face as he leaned in. “I swear to you, Alec, I didn’t know I would leave you like that," he said, voice hoarse. "I never intended to hurt you, I love you-“

This choking, fragile, desperate sound pushed its way from Alec’s lips. Like the word had broken through his final guard, Alec’s face crumpled.

The prince gripped an arm around Magnus’ waist and pulled him forwards. He crushed him into a tight embrace, head burying into the warlock’s shoulder as he whispered his name, over and over again. Magnus cradled the back of Alec’s neck, breathing in the sweet scent of rose and pinewood as he nuzzled into the prince. They stood like that for a minute, and then one more.

Magnus lost count of the seconds. It was all he wanted. In this moment, they were two voyagers learning to navigate together. They didn’t collide or pass each other by. They were learning to exist in the other’s space again, with eager, bright smiles and fierce hope. It was the beginning and the end of their story. Magnus felt youthful and hesitant as he pulled back, but then he saw Alec’s charming grin, and the awaiting adventures in his eyes, and felt his own lips mirror the smirk. He was greedy and needing more, and Alec was ready to give it back, unquestionably.

Magnus wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Eventually, Alec pulled back, leaving a firm, heated indent against Magnus’ forehead, one that felt like Alec had slipped into his soul, staying with him, always.

“I know you didn’t know,” Alec began, stroking his fingers across Magnus’ cheeks, gazing at him like he’d not seen him in years. Perhaps it had felt like that, to a mortal prince who’d grieved someone he’d seen as indestructible.

There was a new shade of understanding in Alec’s eyes. Magnus felt anchored by it, soothed by the acceptance that life and death were closer than he’d once believed. He stood tall, the pride in his eyes befriending the gentleness of his hands as they cupped Magnus’ face.

Magnus couldn’t find any more words, but he felt that Alec had something to share, and so he remained quiet, basking in the light, and the promises that would soon come.

“I have to ask you something, and I’m frightened to,” Alec admitted, “but I need to.” He paused, tongue swiping across his lower lip as his thoughts consumed him.

After another moment, his hands fell from either side of Magnus’ face, instead coming to rest on his hips, neither tugging him closer nor pushing him away. It was a careful gesture, one that promised to be patient.

“You love me,” Alec said, “and I love you. I don’t doubt that, and I have faith in it, but…Magnus, do you choose me, knowing that you won’t have someone else afterwards? Knowing that this is it? I’m the final choice, Magnus. I know how daunting that must be, for someone who has lived so long. You’ve never had that choice before. It’s what I’m asking you now.”

The calm way he spoke was hauntingly beautiful. Magnus knew how much courage it took Alec to ask this, especially given how he’d once found it so difficult to even ask for a hand to hold. Yet, here he was, asking for the man he loved to choose him.

“I don’t doubt that you feel free in certain ways,” Alec continued quietly, “but is this what you really want? Forever is within our reach. We can be together, always, until the last day. I have always wanted that, but you never had that choice. I’m giving it to you again. Forget the other promises. This is the only one that matters. I’m asking you this as Alec, not the future King of Idris.”

Magnus fought to speak, the rising sensations in his chest like a wave that refused to come to shore. He was so sure about this, and yet, the way Alec spoke about his future was tremendously powerful. It moved Magnus, to see the love in the prince’s questions, and to know that Alec would let him go, if it meant he’d be happier.

It was almost too much, this devoted love, the loyalty that Alec was handing over with pride. Did he truly deserve it?

As if sensing his hesitation, Alec smiled slowly, full lips parting easily. Holding Magnus’ gaze, his hands fell from Magnus’ hips, and this time, he lifted them up until they reached the top of his head. He carefully plucked the dainty crown from his head, and placed it on the nearby bench, before coming back over to stand before the speechless warlock.

“I’m asking you this as the boy in the library, and the prince who went on an adventure that changed his entire world. I’m asking you as Alec Lightwood, no more, no less.” He held out both arms, and the gesture was so endearing, and frustratingly adorable, that Magnus had to dig his nails into his thigh to stop from silencing him with a kiss.

“You have guided me, and given me strength, and courage,” Alec said, “now let me return the favour. Let me make this first step.”

As though rising to the challenge that Magnus had silently given - that no man, woman, mortal or creature could surprise him - Alec gave him a devastatingly beautiful smile.

And then, he slowly lowered himself onto both knees, still with his eyes on Magnus.

A gasp stuttered out from Magnus’ chest. The ground beneath his feet seemed to turn into gentle hands, holding him upright. The angels in the painting on the ceiling made Magnus feel like this moment had always been destined for greatness.

Descending to the floor, Alec’s words filed the room with a quiet melody. He kneeled, and there was such a simple beauty to it, to his devoted eyes and smile, that Magnus wanted to harmonise with the melody entirely.

“Take me as your friend, companion and lover,” Alec invited. “Take me as I am, Magnus, as I have done with you, and will do, time and again.” Tears were filling his lovely eyes as the prince smiled. “I will choose you until our last moments," Alec promised. "I’m reverently, passionately, wholly devoted to you. This kingdom will have us both as rulers, or it shall not have me at all. I will decline the throne,” Alec said fiercely, his eyes burning up at Magnus.

The warlock swallowed, but couldn’t move away, rooted to the stop. “But…that’s your duty,” he murmured.

“Yes, it is,” Alec said. He reached with a hand, clasping it tightly around Magnus’ as he spoke. “But you are my _heart_. I cannot rule without my heart, Magnus. I cannot be a king without you. I refuse to,”

He added this stubbornly, and Magnus felt a bubble of laughter slip through his lips.

Alec lifted his chin, proud and tender at the same time. “If leaving will give you the best life, then please, go.” His voice softened. “I want you to have no regrets. But go knowing that I will love you until the gold in my crown turns back to dust, until my hair turns gray, and my eyes become blind." Alec swallowed, clearing his throat and said, "My vow, to you, Magnus Bane, is thus completed.”

_Vow._

Shock flickered across Magnus’ mind as he felt the shift. How could he have thought it possible?

Someone offering their heart to him had been the prophecy’s final words. Not just anyone, either, but a prince; a good, kind, loyal man who had gifted him a new way of living, and loving. He had re-birthed all the buried joy in Magnus’ heart. Alec had re-spun the threads of hope into a new tapestry of woven adventures.

“In all my life,” Alec said quietly, “I’ve never felt that kind of fear, or loneliness. I vowed that if I found a way to have you back, I’d offer you everything. That’s what I’m doing,” Alec said softly, grazing his lips across the back of Magnus’ hand. He then turned it over, pressing a soft kiss into the centre of his palm, lips soft but so sure.

A thousand years could not have prepared Magnus for this. Stories and wise friends would not have readied him for how Alec’s offer felt, or how this kind of love was within his reach.

_I deserve this,_ he thought, _and so does Alec._

With that, the warlock knew what he had to do.

Slowly, shakily, and squeezing Alec’s hand, Magnus kneeled onto the carpet. He mirrored Alec’s pose, falling to his knees. He rocked forwards slightly, and felt his toes dig into the floor.

Magnus looked up, finally eye-to-eye with the prince again. He reached out, and the first touch, made Alec gasp, his chest pushing out as Magnus gripped Alec's shirt, tugging him closer. His fingers curled in the velvet, inhaling deeply. They stayed, kneeling together, for a long moment. It had all the tenderness of a first, hesitant sunrise.

And then the sun came.

“Yes,” Magnus said, finally. He felt like he hadn’t spoken in years, but until now, he’d not realised how utterly useless words could be, especially when there was so much more to say in touch, and looking.

Nevertheless, he tried. “I would very much like you to be my last, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, thumb coming up to graze over Alec’s collar bone. There were still bruises decorating his skin from the battle, and Magnus ducked his head, tracing them with his lips, one at a time. Alec's chest stuttered out, and his fingers came up to grip the back of Magnus' neck. 

“You have already been my first in many ways,” Magnus mused quietly, and Alec’s silence was anything but sad. The prince was beaming, the earnest expression urging Magnus onwards. “Somehow, Alexander, you’ve always managed to do that. Even when I was immortal, you gave me new experiences, and new life, but now, I want to share one lifetime with you. Just one. I am offering you my first, and last, mortal lifetime. My first prince, and my last love,” he said softly. He was leaning back, studying Alec's face. “Cherishing you will be a pleasure, and ruling beside you will be an honour."

Something unreadable crossed Alec's face. He cleared his throat. "Speaking of," he muttered.

When he swallowed, almost nervously, Magnus cocked his head. Alec was suddenly restless, fidgeting as he knelt before him. 

“What it is, Alexander?” He’d only been away a week, surely nothing too toward could happen.

Instead of wincing, Alec smiled, shaking his head softly. "It's something good. I hope." Before Magnus could press for more, Alec carried on. “When I found out you were alive, I…I thought about something. Well, a lot, but one thing in particular," Alec said. "You’re right. Idris needs both of us. Our united rule will have a downworlder and a human on the throne. I’m not foolish enough to believe that change happens overnight, but…I want you to rule with equal power, in the _law’s_ eyes, not just mine.”

There was a secret in those words, and Magnus wasn't catching on quick enough.

He slowly ran his tongue across the tips of his teeth, thinking it over.

“There’s only one way to equal a king’s power, Alexander, and that’s to marry them-“

He blinked.

“Oh,” he said, faintly.

The pair of them already kneeling was probably a good thing. Magnus thought he might’ve collapsed otherwise.

Alec couldn't mean what Magnus was thinking. Surely.

The idea was crazy. Impossible.

_I want it,_ another part of him whispered.

Alec nodded, his expression shifting, growing confident. “I think we can use the system against itself," he said. "A king can marry whomever he chooses, as long as they are _mortal_ ,” Alec stressed the last word, looking expectantly at Magnus. He waited patiently, but his hands twitched nervously. 

“I’m mortal,” Magnus said, again, surprised that the word was even coming out at all.

“Yes,” Alec said, smirking a bit, “you are.”

He was hesitant, uncertain, but also smiling proudly as he reached into his pocket.

Magnus gasped, a flash of gold and red catching the light as Alec unfurled his palm. The ring was small, but beautiful, a simple golden band with a few tiny rubies settled into it.

“Rubies,” Magnus said faintly. His eyes narrowed playfully. “Am I sensing a joke in there, Alec?”

“Perhaps,” the prince teased, laughing. He held the thin band up for Magnus to see. “This way, you finally get payed in full. Rubies and a prince’s heart,” he said lightly. His expression softened as he looked down at the ring. “Magnus, this is more than a political alliance. I want you on the throne beside me as a leader, yes, but also as a husband."

The word took hold of Magnus' heart, cradling it like a dream.

"Idris will see our kinds as united through us," Alec said. He looked down again. "I know it’s asking a lot, but…I want it. I want this.”

Magnus was smiling before he’d even finished. “Now?” he asked quietly. The moment felt right, with the thin ribbons of light dancing in, and the peaceful solitude of the pair alone in the room. They were kneeling together, creating a tiny pocket of space where the only two that existed was them.

Suddenly looking bashful, Alec shrugged, but his sweet smile gave him away.

Cheeks flushing, he nodded and said, “I want to. I don’t want to waste another moment, and I love you. I love you, and I will want to marry you now, or in another thirty years, but I would rather not wait that long.” He ducked his head, sheepish. “We’ll rule side by side, two kings, and when the time is right, we can reveal the truth of the rings that bind us.” He glanced up, and hesitantly asked, "What are you thinking?"

Magnus swallowed, glancing between the ring, and Alec's stormy eyes. "I've never been married before," he admitted. "It's...daunting. Lovely, though," Magnus quickly added. And it was. The shock was going, and now he was just left with a prince he loved very much, and a ring that glistened prettily. 

He closed his eyes, smiling, but trying to gain some courage. He had wanted to marry before, had even almost made it to the temple once, before the other had doubts, or they were separated, or things never quite felt right.

The glass shone in an array of colours, and Magnus knew the answer, more sure of this than ever before.

"You will have a seat beside me, your own throne," Alec promised, "and when the time is right, we’ll take that step together,” Alec said. He nodded and added, “I don’t want to hide us, but change has to happen gradually. I want to do this right.”

How Alec had considered it, with thoughtfulness and logic, but also kindness, made Magnus even the surer. He was smiling again, lost in admiration.

“On the island, I promised myself that I would marry you as soon as I saw you, in the next lifetime.”

“How would you recognise me?” Magnus asked, chuckling.

“I would,” Alec simply said. There was no hesitation in it. 

Studying the passion in his eyes, Magnus believed him, without question.

Closing his eyes, Magnus extended his palms, letting his imagination create what he wanted. He snapped his fingers together, and a second ring appeared. He held it carefully, studying the simple, yet elegant gold band, engraved symbols encircling it inside. 

Alec took it, lifting it up to his eyes. “What does it say?”

“Nothing. It doesn't _say_ anything," Magnus said cryptically. He gently held the prince's hand. "Look closely, my dear.”

A gasp tore out of Alec, and the ring lit up, the symbols glistening as the memories danced their way into their minds. He'd enchanted it carefully, just like he'd done with the rose. He felt Alec heading to the beginning, back to the library, back to being a little boy who had captivated Magnus with his curious eyes and secretive thoughts. He was back on the faerie bridge, and sharing a dance at the Seelie Queen's celebration. He was pressed up against a tree, kissing the warlock, and then reliving their first night together, the smell of smoke and lavender painting the night vividly once again. 

When Alec lowered his hand, his eyes reflected back every memory, every moment that had led to now.

"It reminded me of the Caves of Old," Alec murmured.  

Magnus smiled. “We’ll have to go and see if our story is there. One day.”

“I’d like that," Alec softly agreed. 

Realising that they'd been kneeling for a while now, Magnus cleared his throat. “As for _this_ day, I would like to put this on you now. Please," he added, quirking an eyebrow. “Will you do me the honour of accepting this ring?"

“Say my name."

“Hm?”

Alec flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. “You have to say my name," he explained, laughing a little. 

Magnus nodded. “Right. Yes. Of course.” He shook his head, refocused, and held out the hand again. “Alexander Lightwood, will you choose this ring, and take me as your own?”

Alec nodded, angling his hand a little better to place it on the warlock's finger. He looked up, and then had to pause, finding the right words. “I am asking you, Magnus Bane, the only mortal warlock, a truly special being, to tether your soul with mine. I am offering you my heart. Will you choose it?”

Magnus nodded. "I'm yours, Alexander," he vowed.

The two rings finally given, the prince and the warlock reached for each other. Magnus cupped Alec's face in his hands and kissed him, deeply, slowly and without holding back. He felt Alec's arms cling to his waist, wrapping around like a shield. They pushed upwards, kissing as they stood. Back on their feet again, Magnus savoured every second, tasting salt from the tears and joy in his lips. Breathes mingled together, the pair refusing to separate. Alec kissed him with fervour, hands tight around Magnus' waist. Eagerly, he dipped forwards again, and Magnus laughed as they chased each other's lips, again and again. 

And just because he could, and was overcome with happiness, Magnus dipped Alec, smiling as the prince laughed. He kissed him again, holding him in place. 

Pulling back for breath, Magnus felt his smile threatening to split open his lips. His forehead was hot against Alec's, and he refused to step away. His hands were tightly wound in Alec's tunic, the velvet soothing his fingers. 

"Hello," Magnus whispered, laughing as Alec nuzzled into his nose. 

Alec grinned back. "Hello," he said, " _husband_."

Magnus shivered with pleasure at the new term of endearment. He smiled, thumbs brushing across Alec’s cheeks.

“Look at me, marrying a king," Magnus purred. "I’m feeling very smug right now, you know.”

Alec beamed, but pointed out, "I’m not a king yet. Tomorrow. As soon as I’m crowned, you’ll be more than my right-hand. You’ll be a king as well,” he promised. “Your history has made you a legend already, but this," Alec said, pointing down at the rings, "is a power I can give you. If anything happens to me, you’ll be Idris’ true heir. And one day,” he insisted, “I’ll introduce you as my husband.”

The warlock smiled, understanding. They would be seen as rulers in the eyes of the law, an alliance, not wedded men. But that didn't matter. Alec was right. In the future, they would be able to share the truth, that the rings were more than a way for equal power. They were vows of love and earnest devotion. 

“I’m a patient man,” Magnus said. “Well, only when the cause is worthwhile. I’ll settle for being a king, ruling with you.”

“Good, because Idris needs your wisdom, and your strength,” Alec said, “and I, need my husband, in all his glory.”

"I love you," Magnus said, reaching up to brush his fingers across Alec's lips. He felt the roughness, and the softness too, and smiled. He swayed slightly, pulling Alec with him as he teased, "Oh, so many rooms in the castle to explore. So many beds to ruin.”

Alec followed his movements, arms still firmly wrapped around his waist. "I can't wait," Alec teased, voice low. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "And anyway, haven't we already consummated?"

The brazen tease made Magnus speechless. After he recovered, Magnus smirked slyly. "I didn't think about that, but you clearly did, darling." He laughed, and Alec joined in, and the prince looked unfairly beautiful again, so Magnus simply had to kiss him.  

"You can change your mind," Alec suddenly said quietly, eyes on Magnus, and only him. 

"Have you met me?" Magnus asked, teasing. "I would never turn down such a dramatic proposal. Darling, you went down on _both_ knees."

Alec's shoulders shook as he laughed, and his smile was one of pure, unashamed joy. "I did," he admitted, "and I would do it again. Whatever, we both knelt," he pointed out, huffing out a laugh. 

Magnus accepted this, and leaned forwards to kiss the prince again. When he pulled back, Magnus grinned. "We," he repeated, testing the word out. "I like that word." It tasted like sweet, hot tea, or the delightful explosion of flavour in that first bite of a berry.

"I'm not letting you out of my sights again, you know," Alec murmured. The adoration was still there, but now there was a hunger in his eyes. Magnus warmed to it, pressed in closer and smirked. 

"Good," he muttered. "We have beds to test out, remember?"

The prince chuckled, and after they shared another kiss, Magnus sighed. He offered Alec an arm. "Shall we, dear?"

Alec nodded, slipping his arm through his. "Let's," he agreed.

 

~

Heart filled to the brim with joy, Alec turned to Magnus at the door. He allowed himself a moment to admire their new rings, holding them up and then linking their hands together.

He only pulled them apart again to cup Magnus’ face, stroking against his jaw as he dipped his head to kiss him. It was desperate and heated, tongue and teeth proving their determination to stay together, always. But after a few more seconds, it grew softer, sweeter, and Magnus’ arms wove themselves around Alec’s neck, keeping the prince firmly pinned in place.

A hand on the door – a _ringed_ hand, his brain chimed in happily – Alec smiled, reaching out with the other.

“Ready?”

Magnus nodded. “Ready, Alexander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was so boring, right? Absolutely nothing happened. At all.  
> Oh wait.  
> Did someone get married?????  
> *screams*.  
> I hope you liked it!!  
> Also, Cat and Ragnor's volunteering was one of my favourite parts to write, their friendship means the world to me, AND don't worry, they will be back by the end of the story ;)  
> Married malec though, you guuuuuuys <3 That scene was such a joy to write, ugh, my heart.  
> Oh, by the way! There is one more chapter to go, and then an epilogue :)  
> Come chat to me on twitter @clockworkswan96, and tumblr - clockworkswans.  
> Also, check out this feelsy song that suits the proposal/wedding: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TF5oqpYvxyc


	22. Our Reign Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we reach the final chapter!  
> I didn't want to go overboard or draw it out too long, but I hope it's a nice wrap-up :)  
> (there will be a short epilogue soon)  
> I hope you've enjoyed this story, I have had such an incredibly fun time writing it :)  
> Fic playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> Happy reading!  
> I'm on twitter @clockworkswan96, and tumblr; clockworkswans.  
> Coronation music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ccYq-nE2X4

The bells sung quieter on the morning of the coronation.

The loud chimes that announced the late king's death had sounded shrill and loud. These ones, Raphael thought, sounded like the promise of a stable future.

He’d not befriended hope in a long time. Raphael found it easier to soften it into realistic ideals. He once believed that distance kept his heart protected. Now, after everything that had happened, he was beginning to accept that hope, and light, were remaining in his life.

The boy beside him was also, so it would seem, remaining in Raphael’s life.

“At least I don’t have to look properly at Jace’s smug face anymore,” Simon muttered, stabbing at a nearby cluster of flowers with his staff. It had been a gift from Jem, who was more than happy to part with one of his beloved staffs. It was long, made of light wood, and Simon had grown attached to it in the couple of weeks they’d returned from the battle. His eyesight was still damaged. The healers had faith that it would return, but slowly, and so, as they made their way around the castle gardens, Raphael didn’t say a word. He let Simon grumble, and was careful to catch his arm if he tripped.

“It’s like that moment when you wake up,” Simon was explaining, “and your eyes are blurry. It's like spider webs are covering the world. I can see, but I can’t…. _see_ ,” he finished quietly. His grip on Raphael’s arm tightened. This time, the knight knew it wasn’t from lack of direction, but from unease.

But Simon was alive; he was still the same friendly, babbling, kind-hearted boy Raphael had fallen for. Simon’s energy still came in spikes, but sometimes his mood dropped. The knight found it easy to be patient. He also was careful not to be tentative. He knew that would frustrate Simon just as much as teases would.

So Raphael did the only thing he could, and stayed.

“Tell me about the gardens again,” Simon suggested, voice quietening.

“Okay,” Raphael said. As he spoke, he led them down another path, following the vine-covered iron archways that led to a crossroad, a fountain in the middle. “So, there’s the maze. Tall hedges. You know, a maze,” Raphael said flatly, and Simon grinned, shaking his head fondly.

“The trees are blossoming now. Blue to your right, green to the left. An orange petal just landed on your shoulder.”

Raphael reached out and plucked it from the boy’s arm, thumbing over its smooth surface. He held it out. “Can you see the colour?”

Simon squinted, and then, after a moment of endearingly focused concentration, he let out a quiet exclamation.

“Yes! I can. It’s orange. Oh, I love orange," Simon said. "Orange is now my favourite colour.” He was beaming now, eyes trained just to the left of Raphael’s face. “Wait, am I looking at you? I think I am.”

“Hm, no. Almost.” With a small smile, Raphael shook his head, lifting a hand to take hold of Simon’s chin. He angled it across, so that now he was gazing up at Raphael dead-on.

“Better,” he said.

They completed their daily short walk around the gardens. Raphael knew that soon they would have to head inside. The coronation was in a short while, and he was on guard duty. Simon was eagerly anticipating it, delighted that they were a part of the occasion. During his recovery, many friends from his village, and of course, Clary and Isabelle, had come to visit him. Raphael was once again reminded of how many people cared for Simon, and how grateful he was to have even a small part of Simon’s heart.

“I don’t need my sight to know you’re lost in thought, you know,” Simon suddenly said, interrupting his silence with a grin. “Are we near the pavilion yet?”

“Yes. Step up in three, two, one…”

After they’d taken a seat on one of the stone benches, Simon exhaled slowly. The scars across his eyes were still pink, the magic healing it slowly. They didn’t make the boy’s beauty disappear, and when Simon glanced away, shielding it from him, Raphael frowned.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen true horror in this world, and scars are not one of them,” Raphael promised. “You saved my life. Simon, you survived a battle that many people fell in. I know you might not feel victorious, but be happy. As happy as you can be, at least. And that includes accepting this,” Raphael said, and gently turned his head to face him again, “as a scar that one day will heal. It will heal, and so will you, but in the meantime, you are still Simon Lewis. There are books to be read, and people to make smile. They need you. I do, too, if you’d like that still.”

He suddenly quietened, realising he'd spoken without intending to. But he needed to say it.

Simon bobbed his head, nodding. “Y-yes,” he hastily said. “I do, I just…I know you’re not interested in certain things.” He said this slowly, and now it was Raphael’s turn to hesitate.

He’d not admitted this outright, but the fact that Simon had worked it out, and not mentioned it, told Raphael that he’d already accepted it.

“You’re right,” Raphael said. “I’m not interested in that kind of intimacy. Does that bother you?”

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “All I care about is if you love me.”

There was a pause, pregnant with surprise, and tenderness too.

After a moment, Simon let out an awkward laugh, but his grin was a delightful one. “I, uh, didn’t mean to drop that into the conversation. Honestly. I just…want to know the details, if that’s okay?”

Raphael nodded. “Ever since I was old enough to understand why other knights disappeared with court ladies or lords, I knew it wasn’t for me. I never felt desire in that way. I want to hold, and be held, and I want to kiss you, Simon, but as for the rest, it depends. One day, I may want to try, or I may never. As of now, I don’t want that.”

He’d worried occasionally that it made him incomplete, that a part was missing. But he’d accepted, and warmed to the idea that not everyone felt desire. He’d fallen for Simon in a way that was equally intimate and tender. He hoped that Simon didn’t see Raphael's affections for him as a weakened version of love. 

He should’ve known better than to worry, really. This was Simon Lewis, after all.

The boy smirked. “So, you love me?”

“Yes, Simon, I love you,” Raphael mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Ah ha!” Simon cried, fist bumping the air. “I knew I could get you to say it first. Now that that’s out of my system, about the other thing…I don’t care." Simon's expression was open and earnest, his hand reaching for the knight's. "I just want to be with you, whatever way you’ll have me. I’ll never expect more than you can give, and it doesn’t change how I see you. Not in the slightest. You’ll always be Raphael, the stubborn, sly, clever, secretive softie knight I love.”

“I am not soft,” Raphael muttered. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, but the boy simply shrugged, linking their fingers together in his lap.

“I thought we were having honest talk," Simon reminded him with a grin. "Is it over so soon?”

Raphael was pleased to see Simon smiling again, but couldn't help but tease, “I think I liked you better unconscious."

For an awful moment, Raphael thought he'd crossed the line. Simon blinked in surprise, winced as his scar pulled taunt against his skin. He stared across at Raphael, and then, just as Raphael had an apology ready on his lips, the boy burst out laughing. Relieved, Raphael shook his head, but his own laughter soon followed. The sound was a relieved build-up of nervous energy and fear. It seemed to spill out, slipping away for a very long time, at least Raphael hoped it wouldn’t return soon.

He’d like peace. For a while, if they could.

“Simon? Simon, are you near?”

The new voice – a woman’s, gentle and warm – called out from a short distance away. Raphael waved a hand as she rounded the corner, coming up the steps of the pavilion. She wore a forest-green gown, the neckline stitched with elegant patterns, and she had the same open warmth in her eyes as the boy Raphael sat beside.

“Here you are,” Eileen, Simon’s mother, said, beaming. “I know the coronation is soon, but I thought I’d perhaps join you on your walk, but I see you already have company.” She patted Simon’s hand, and Raphael was pleased that she’d learned to make him aware with a touch, as well as silent gestures.

His mother was a kind woman. Raphael hadn’t known her for very long, but during Simon’s recovery, she had been patient and welcoming to him, as they helped her son through the weeks.

She didn’t say the words with any heat. Eileen greeted Raphael with a smile, nodding in friendly acknowledgement. The first time she’d met him, in the infirmary up in the West Wing of the castle, Eileen had said, “Pleasure to meet you,” and Raphael had believed her. She spoke honestly, her love for her son a shared trait between them, which bonded them, unspoken.

Starting to stand, Raphael was about to move away when Simon clenched his arm tighter. He pointed. “This is the one I told you about,” Simon quietly said. His finger actually pointed to the nearby column. 

“I know,” Eileen said, and her lips twitched, hiding a grin. Still, she played the doting mother and said to Raphael, “Thank you, again, for bringing my son home.”

“He made it difficult,” Raphael admitted. She laughed at that, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop from beaming.

He was starting to leave, when Eileen held out a hand, stopping him. She offered a friendly smile and said, "Raphael, you should join us in our home sometime. For dinner. We'd be delighted to host you." 

“Oh." The offer was given so naturally that Raphael was speechless for a few seconds. Finally, he returned Eileen's smile, and said, as warmly as he could, "A lovely invitation. Thank you. I'd be honoured." 

Simon gave him a shaky thumbs up from behind, and Raphael didn’t fight the rising smile this time.

He turned, heading inside the castle. He was on guard duty for the coronation, but he’d see Simon later.

Up in the castle, a warlock and a prince were no doubt busily preparing for the chaotic day ahead…

~

“Can warlocks freeze time?” Alec mused.

“Why? Was the whole of last night not good enough for you? Greedy prince.”

“At least I have silencing magic,” Magnus added, grinning slyly. “That was certainly helpful, given our…enthusiasm.” Alec didn’t flush or look away, he just narrowed his eyes, smirk widening.

“Indeed,” the prince agreed.

With Alec nestled closely against his chest, his hair tickling Magnus’ cheeks, the warlock really considered sneaking them from the castle. The sun had risen moments before, and ribbons of amber light still warmed their bare chests.

Thinking back to last night, Magnus had never before been greeted with so much enthusiasm for simply walking out of a throne room with another man. He’d held Alec’s hand, pushed open the doors, and waited for the incoming storm. Isabelle and Jace were the first to pounce, closely followed by Clary, and then Lydia. Even Maia had offered a grin, winking at Magnus and mouthing out, ‘good job’. Luke and Jocelyn, joined at the hip ever since they’d come back from the battle – as he later found out from Alec – offered him kind smiles and congratulations, and it was almost too much for Magnus.

Those who knew what the rings meant were careful. They didn’t cheer loudly or hold up the rings for everyone to see. They simply offered quiet support, speaking in actions, not words. They’d walked through the corridors, simply taking in the wonder of it all. People came and went, people busied about the castle, preparing for what was now today; the day of the coronation.

Back in the present, Alec was now tracing a fingertip across Magnus’ heart, the nail scraping slightly against his skin. He looked up, the green in his eyes standing out today, making Magnus feel as though he’d given his heart to a forest nymph. Alec’s beauty came from an enchanting simplicity. His cheekbones were high, his jaw strong, but he wore emotion like armour, not afraid to use it instead of speaking. He was sincere and persevering, but Magnus also knew he kept warmth and compassion in his soul. He’d once compared Alec’s beauty to an artist’s impossible challenge. They’d never be able to succeed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Alec mumbled, “it’s unfair.” His voice was gruff.

They’d only spent half the night sleeping, after all. The rest of the night was a delightful, fruitful time.

They’d escaped to Alec’s chambers late in the evening – after going through today’s schedule one last time – and hadn’t let go of each other since then. At one point, in the early hours of the morning, their enthusiasm had led to the pair ending up on the floor. After trying to silence their laughter, Magnus had just shrugged, snapped his fingers and settled pillows beneath them. Alec had been all too eager to waste no more time. They’d eventually climbed back onto the bed, but they also found their way onto Alec’s desk at one point, and against a wall, with Alec’s head hitting the stone, and Magnus’ lips travelling down his body, gripping him by the hips and holding him in place.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Magnus said airily. He licked his lips, studying Alec some more.

When the prince started to shift, Magnus sighed. He tutted, pointing out, “You’d best get up. You have a crown to get, after all.”

“So do you,” Alec reminded him, sliding out of bed. When he turned back around, he saw that the other man showed no sign of getting up anytime soon. 

“But, Alexander,” Magnus said slowly, lazily stretching out, “this bed has something that the crown doesn’t. Me. Naked. Willing. _Yours_ ,” he said slowly, holding up his ringed finger. “All yours, darling.”

Alec blinked, and Magnus had a feeling that it was the softness in his voice that drove the prince out of his wits. Magnus paired it with a charming grin, letting his glamour drop slightly to flash a hint of magic across his eyes. 

The prince crawled back over to him, hovering, knees either side of Magnus' legs. Alec dipped his head, kissing him slowly but deeply. Magnus sighed into his lips, delicious warmth rushing back in, the haze warmer than any sunlight. After another moment, Alec reached out, linking their ringed hands together and pushing them overhead and against the pillows.

“See?" Magnus' voice was husky as he glanced up, studying the prince. "My way is better. Stay,” he whispered against Alec’s lips.

To Magnus' delight, and frustration, Alec still wasn't giving up. He narrowed his eyes.

“Hm, how about a compromise?” Alec carefully asked.

“Ever the diplomat,” Magnus teased, but then nodded. “Go on.”

“If you can keep still for the next minute, I’m yours for the next hour.”

“Done,” Magnus agreed with a huff of laughter, grinning cockily. “I’ve had years to master self-control, Alexander, really, this is a foolish idea-“

He cut off abruptly as Alec reclined against the other end of the bed, moving away from Magnus. He rested against the bed’s tall, wooden post, tilting his head back. His neck was exposed, the faded black of the rune still there. Alec sighed, staring at a spot just short of Magnus’ eyes. It was a deliberate gesture.

Magnus could look away. He _should_ look away. He only has to suffer for a minute after all.

Alec trailed a hand slowly across his bare stomach, fingertips brushing the trail of hair down his stomach. He reached lower, and a moan spilled from his lips, low and hoarse and hitting Magnus in all the right places.

“Oh, come on,” Magnus hissed. “Who’s supposed to be the devilish one here, hm?”

“You can remind me of just that,” Alec said, stuttering out a gasp as his hand started to stroke harder, “if you get over here.”

“Magnus, please-“

At Alec’s whine, Magnus was growling, and launching forwards. He crawled into Alec’s lap, pushing his thighs further apart. Their lower halves pressed firmly together and this time, both of them groaned, the pressure both divine and unbearable.

“More,” Alec said.

“Is that a command?” Magnus teased, reaching down with his hand. “Or a beg?”

“It can be whatever the hell you want it to be,” Alec mumbled, head falling to bury itself in Magnus’ shoulder. He nibbled across his collar bone, groaning as Magnus’ hand started to push him further over the edge.

“Have I mentioned recently that I love you?” Alec muttered, breathes rasping out. His chest pushed up against Magnus’, the heat burning deliciously.

“You can do so again,” Magnus encouraged, “and again, and every day. Have I told you that I surrender entirely to the continuous challenges you make me put up with?”

“Yeah, I’m sure that was terrible for you,” Alec teased, his voice still low.

Holding his gaze, Magnus pushed back, instantly missing the warmth. He kept steady and laid back against the sheets, beckoning with a finger.

“You have five minutes to return the favour, then I’ll get up,” Magnus promised.

Alec was already on top of him before he’d finished the sentence.

~

A few chambers down, Alec’s sister was overseeing the final adjustments of the ceremony. The people had gathered outside of the throne room, and would be allowed inside, but first, Isabelle had to check everything. And again.

“Nothing can go wrong. I want this to go perfectly,” Isabelle said, snapping her fingers to catch the nearest decorator’s attention.

He came over, smiling nervously. “Yes, my Lady?”

“I asked for rosewater. The prince cannot be crowned if there is no rosewater,” she muttered, placing a hand to her forehead. She had been put in charge of the ritual beforehand, the dressing of the heir. It was often done by servants, and then the previous ruler would offer up the new king his sword. Only their father was gone, and so, Alec had invited Isabelle and Jace to be the two to bring Alec to the throne room. When the time was ready.

And the time is soon, Izzy thought, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

“Does anyone have rosewater?”

A hand wrapped around her shoulder.

“I’ve got it. It’s all here, Iz,” Clary promised, her warm fingers soothing Isabelle’s cool skin. The other girl balanced the jug on one hip, her free hand curling around the handle. “Whenever you’re ready, go. Magnus is already preparing. He’s with Luciana and the warlock couple we met on the road. I’ll assist soon. He asked for a steady hand for the eyes,” Clary added, grinning as she gestured to her own.

“Okay. Okay,” Izzy repeated, spinning around to take in the throne room one last time. The room was gold and red and dazzling. Banners hung in strips of neat cloth throughout the long room, bearing the Lightwood seal. The two thrones stood, waiting and empty at the far end, raised on their usual dais platform. Luke, Jocelyn, Raphael and Simon had been assisting the kitchens for the past two days, preparing the banquet that would follow afterwards. They’d be expecting many lords, ladies, and visiting kingdom guests. There was an open invitation to the Seelie Court, and their Queen, though it was undecided if she would show. Isabelle hoped to see Helen and Aline at least.

“Everything is done,” Clary said quietly, coming to stand by her side. “You’re good to go, princess.”

“Come on then. You have a warlock to decorate, and I have a brother to bless.” Isabelle gave herself only a few more seconds to study the room, before linking her arm through Clary’s, and tugging the girl through one of the side entrances. They giggled as they slipped into a quiet corridor, finally getting away from the shouts and questions darting about the room like arrows.

When her father had been crowned, the affair was brief, the focus on getting Idris to submit to Robert’s rule. This time, it was a pleasant occasion. The coronation hadn’t been rushed or forced onto the people, but rather, everyone had come together in assistance.

“So,” Isabelle began, a light tease in her voice, “is it our turn to get married next?” She said the joke with a grin, not wanting the red-haired girl to bristle, or worse, look horrified.

Fortunately, only a quiet laugh came from Clary. Her brilliant, vibrant hair was spun into an elegant mess of braids and curls. She’d complained about the cloth strips all night, but in the morning, she’d unravelled them to reveal the bouncy curls. Isabelle had to kiss her to pull her away from the mirror.

 _Such a burden,_ Isabelle thought, _to distract a beautiful woman with a kiss._

Clary still balanced the large jug of rosewater on her left hip, and with her right hand, she reached out, entwining their fingers together. Tranquillity washed over Isabelle. She watched as their joined hands swung as they walked, her smile unable to go away.

When Clary caught her looking, she smirked. “Yes, my lady? Something I can do for you?”

“Answer a question for me?”

“Tell me.”

They’d reached the part in the corridor where they’d part ways. Jace would arrive at Alec’s chambers soon, and they would head inside together, and Clary would visit Magnus, and assist the warlock instead.

Clary watched her carefully, her eyes unflinching.

“You’ve always wanted to find your family, and stop Valentine. Now that it’s done, what do you want? Will you stay here, or leave?”

“Luke and my mom are staying in the village again, to be close to the castle, but I think they’ll travel between there, and the Shadowlands. Luke still has his pack, and some of them aren’t yet confident in moving closer to our land. As for me,” Clary said, pausing. She thought for a long moment, but her hand never loosened from Isabelle’s grip.

“You were right. Before. My whole life was about stopping my father, and working out where I came from,” Clary agreed. “I’ve never thought about my future that far ahead.” She paused. “But, I will now, because I have someone I want a future with. I have Luke, and my mother, and Simon, and you, Isabelle. Iz, I want to be with you, but I don’t think either of us wants to stay inside the castle. Not always. I want to travel, and see the land. I want to be selfish.”

“Can I be selfish with you?” Isabelle asked. “There are islands to the North that my brother wants to arrange meetings with. We could start there? See where the next adventure takes us? There are still sorcerers out there, and demon reports have been coming in," Isabelle pointed out. Her grin widened. "We have work to do, Clary Fairchild."

The girl smiled back, the corners of her mouth rising in agreement. "We do, Iz."

Clary leaned in, her forehead resting against Izzy’s. She was smiling, but Izzy didn’t need to see it. The connection between them grew stronger each day. It was like Clary’s gift had a life of its own, and it wanted to be close to Isabelle, to share each day, and grow brighter, falling more in love.

“I’d love that,” Clary finally said.

“Me too. I think we can balance out a life of adventures and responsibilities, don’t you?”

Clary nodded, stealing a quick kiss. “We can try.”

The promise was strong, and Isabelle had faith in it, in the love between them, and the root of friendship it had grown from.

As she watched the girl leave, Izzy paused, waiting against the door. She leaned back, stealing a few, quiet moments before the tension grew again.

Jace came into view, his deep red tunic rich and beautiful. His blonde hair was neatly styled, although a strand had betrayed him. Izzy reached up to tuck it away, and Jace smiled. 

He carried the new sword, straight from the blacksmith’s home down in the circle of huts decorating the second ring of the courtyard.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” Isabelle purred, admiring the blade. It was strong, the single jewel small, but elegant. Its handle was fitted perfectly for the prince, and it was the second component needed for the ritual. Every heir needed to be blessed, and receive a new weapon, untouched by any other. It was a sign of the new future that the new ruler brought. It wasn’t from the father or mother, or anyone before them, but a sign of their individual strength that they’d bring to the kingdom.

She turned, knocking on the door. She gave the wood two brief, firm knocks.

“Big brother,” she softly called out, “it’s time.” 

After a few seconds of waiting, the door swung open.

~

The two knocks came a short while after Magnus had left.

For a single, embarrassing moment – Magnus found it most amusing – Alec feared that his legs were too unsteady to stand. Thankfully, they’d restrained themselves enough to recover from the night before. Alec shooed Magnus out, but not before kissing him once more, tongue smoothing across his lower lip. It was an achingly slow kiss, one that yearned to grow deeper, but Alec didn’t let it.

He would see the warlock again, very soon. He would watch his husband become a king beside him.

It wasn’t just his coronation, and in a way, this made Alec less afraid to face what awaited them outside of the chambers. They would make history together, not apart. He was not alone in this.

Taking his time dressing, Alec had approached the coronation attire hanging on the stand. Item by item, he dressed, using the methodical slowness to steady his breathing. He’d been preparing for this day for many years. The adventures and loss that had led up to his hadn’t, however, been expected. He was a different man to the prince who’d viewed the throne with wide eyes. He was different. They all were.

Finally done, Alec turned to the mirror. The reflection looked back with a surprisingly cool expression, the figure’s head held high. He looked regal. He looked _ready_. His long, black tunic split into two folds at mid-knee, golden trimming matching the elegant buttons lining down the middle. The buttons were cold against his feverish fingers, and Alec gripped the last one tightly, holding a hand to his throat. His gauntlets were muted gold, dull but noble, covering from wrist to elbow. The knee-high boots were made of thick, black leather, settling comfortably against his thigh.

He had only a single item left. The cloak was dark red, a cherry ripe to pick, and its gold trimming matched Alec’s tunic. Although his tunic was plain, the cloak bore the Lightwood seal, and the tiny clasp holding it together was constructed of two gold arrows. Alec touched them, fingers softly brushing the metal. He smiled. After all, he’d been given more than enough time to prepare. Simply doing his best was no longer something to fear. Alec knew he would make mistakes, but he refused to dismiss his strengths anymore. If the previous year had taught him anything, it was that: true weakness was giving the illusion of having none. It didn’t make a person stronger, it simply tore bigger chunks out of their armour.

Just as he began to pace about the room, two knocks sounded out. He rushed to the door, tugging it open before he could hesitate.

When Izzy appeared from behind the door, Jace giving him a wink beside her, Alec felt even less uncertain. He invited his brother and sister into the room, quietly closing the door behind them. 

“Hey,” Alec murmured, stepping back to let Isabelle and Jace into the room.

Isabelle carried the jug of rosewater in her arms. The petals came from the trees in the orchids below, and the water from the well, fresh and cool. It was a sign of blessing, of new beginnings and returning to the roots. It was known as a blessing; that as one rule ended, another began.

“So,” Izzy began, “how is the man of the hour feeling? Sorry, one of them,” she corrected with a grin. “Don’t tell Magnus I said that. His ego might swell so much the crown won’t fit.”

It was a silly tease, but it broke the swelling tension. Alec chuckled, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze.

“I’m okay,” he said honestly, “just…It’s a lot,” he finished.

Jace let out a slow whistle. “That’s putting it mildly, buddy. Remember when we used to ride horses through the meadows and ignore our responsibilities? I miss those days.”

“You still run off to befriend eagles,” Alec reminded him with a scoff, rolling his eyes when Jace widened his eyes, mock-offended.

“I suppose we should get started.”

A quiet hush filled the room again. Alec nodded. “Let’s,” he agreed.

Isabelle was the first to move. She came over, and dipped a finger into the jug. She traced the Angelic symbol for loyalty over his forehead. A few droplets slipped onto his nose, and the pleasant scent of the rosewater filled Alec’s nostrils. She traced a few more, choosing strength, wisdom and courage as the other three. Alec remained obediently still and silent throughout the process, only pausing to duck his head, grinning as Isabelle pushed onto her toes as well. It was a quiet, tender moment, and for a few seconds, it was simply the three of them, preparing for any old ceremony. It was Alec, and his siblings, as always, being the ones who lifted each other up. It was Jace holding his gaze, smiling and nodding in approval when the prince raised an eyebrow inquiringly. It was Izzy grinning proudly as she put down the jug and stepped back, eyes tracing over his figure.

Alec held his arms out and stiffly asked, “And? How does the future king of Idris look?”

“Ready,” Jace offered. “Handsome. Strong. Enchanting to the point that some may suspect foul play and call for an investigation into your birthright-“

“Jace,” Isabelle hissed, but she was chewing her lip, her laughter bubbling up.

“Thank you, Jace, for the words of wisdom,” Alec said flatly. He was joining in with their laughter moments later, reaching for the cloak on the stand.

Jace was suddenly by his side. “Let me,” he offered, pulling the cloak into his arms. He held it out, nodding for Alec to turn around. The prince did, ducking his head a fraction so Jace could reach around and pin the buckle together. It clicked, the sound satisfying, and with it, the final moments approached.

Jace came and delivered the new sword, and Alec buckled it to his thin belt. The space atop his head was empty, but not for much longer. He ran a hand across his chin, the stubble rough against his fingers.

 _Perhaps I should’ve cut it,_ he thought.

Izzy swiped his hand away, shaking her head. “You’re perfect, big brother.”

The sight of his sister watching him with a sweet smile, her eyes glistening proudly, made something come hurtling into Alec’s mind. He had a long time to consider this, but now, he was more sure than ever before.

“Will you be my heir?” Alec asked bluntly.

Isabelle blinked, taking a step back. She gaped at him. “But…what if I don’t have children?” she asked. “Then the line will-”

“Be passed onto someone deserving. Family is more than blood. I see that now. I trust that you will be a strong ruler, and choose an appropriate heir in return. Traditions based on ignorance are changing.”

“Then yes,” Isabelle said, “I will be your heir, big brother.”

Jace clasped his arm, his silver gauntlet touching the prince’s golden one. “You have always had my allegiance, Alec,” Jace promised, “and if we fall, we fall together. You’ve become the man I always saw. Even as a boy, I could see the king you’d become, a man who would journey across a land and save a people who didn’t even know what he’d given up for them. And now, you don’t have to give anything up, not a single, damn part of you. I’ll die before I let that happen.”

“No morbid death talk,” Isabelle warned, but her eyes were glistening with tears as she grinned. “Our brother is becoming a king. We cannot have his first day be spent in gloomy melancholy.”

“Someone’s been sinking their teeth into fairy tales again,” Alec teased her word choice, but smiled back. “You’ll open the doors for me, yes?”

“Who else is worthy of that honour?” Jace asked, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

“No one,” Alec promised, and meant it. He inhaled slowly, letting the breath out. He closed his eyes, let his mind become familiar with itself. He filtered out the unhelpful thoughts, the fears and the uncertainty. He chose to believe that he was right to rule Idris. The land would have two kings, united and birthing a new age.

If Alec believed in anything, he believed in that. He believed, more than ever before, in the love he chose to give, and accept.

“Your Highness,” Isabelle said, once they’d reached the throne room, “are you ready?"

Alec nodded. 

Jace beamed at him. "Then let's make you a legend."

~

The first thing Alec noticed was _sound_.

A quiet, single instrument was singing out a melody. It was slow, managing to be tender and uplifting at the same time. Alec smiled, relaxing already. He would know the sound of Jem’s playing anywhere. His friend stood in the corner, playing the viol with his usual tender confidence. The other musicians began to tap out a rhythm on their wooden instruments. The drum beats were quiet. Jem’s playing was the stand-out, and the other musicians supported their leader’s strong melody.

Alec lifted his chin. He focused on the left throne waiting ahead. He didn’t dare risk meeting the eyes of anyone in the crowd. If they smiled, he would grow too relaxed, and if they didn’t, well, he’d likely find the nearest door to flee out of.

A coronation was the heir’s first moments to indicate their future rule. As soon as the doors had opened, Alec’s reign began. He was no longer a prince, strolling towards that legacy; he was willingly stepping towards it. Each step he took was a long stride, taken with purpose and pride. His cloak settled around him, and the coolness of the buttons against his skin was a welcomed anchoring.

As he reached the throne, Maryse was waiting. As the late king’s Queen, she would be the one to pass on the crown, but Isabelle – Alec’s heir – and Luciana – who Alec assumed had been invited by Magnus to be his heir – would stand by their respected king’s throne. Maryse waited until Izzy was standing by the left one, and then came to stand before Alec.

The music silenced. A hush fell, blossoming out like first rainfall; anticipated and needed.

“I, Queen Maryse Lightwood of Idris, do hereby relinquish the crown to Alexander Lightwood, son of the late, King Robert,” she began. Her voice was loud and clear, the crisp quality echoing off the walls. “May the Angels look on in approval, and go with you, always. May you rule with wisdom and kindness. Do you swear, before the Court today, to bond your soul to the heart of the kingdom?”

“I swear,” Alec repeated, placing his fist to his chest. He kept his gaze bowed. When the moment was ready, he would rise, and with it, his mother would give him the crown. Alec remained still, giving the Queen her final time to be Idris’ ruler. He would always respect her opinions, but he knew she must be feeling unsteady as well.

“With that, rise,” Maryse commanded, holding out a hand. The sleeve of her gown, velvet and purple, brushed across Alec’s fingers. As he rose, standing to his full height, Maryse stepped down, now on the ground level, just like her son.

“Alexander Lightwood,” she began, turning to pluck the awaiting crown from the cushion being extended to her by the crown bearer, Luke. The other man smiled at Alec, and the prince nodded gratefully.

The Queen held it out, and Alec dipped his head, inclining it towards his mother. Maryse settled the crown on top of Alec’s head, and the prince stilled. His body tensed. For a single, long second, all he felt was the new weight of a king’s crown, and the duties it came with. And then he glanced up, catching Izzy’s smile, and Jace beaming from ear to ear. He saw Luke offering him a nod, the Alpha’s encouragement making Alec feel lighter.

“If your vows are spoken true, Alexander Lightwood, then you may take your place on the throne.” Maryse clasped her arm around his gauntlet, squeezing. An unspoken pride shone in her eyes, flashing more brightly than any polished gold coin. It was worth a thousand words, and he, finally, allowed himself to smile.

Climbing onto the raised platform, Alec turned, facing his awaiting people. A sea of mortals, downworlders and children alike were gathered in the large room, neatly parted down the centre. He caught blood-red lips in the crowd, but the Seelie Queen was watching with a rare smile. Alec caught flashes of warlock marks, and faeries wings. He saw servants pressed against knights to get a look at their new king, and no one battered an eyelid when another nudged one of the werewolves to peer over her shoulder.

Swallowing down the last of his hesitation, Alec settled an arm on either side of the throne, and sat down. Hard wood and carpeted floor told him that his role as Idris’ king had, at long last, begun.

_I’m king._

“Ladies and gentlemen of Idris, I give you your king, Alexander Lightwood.”

The Court dropped to their knees, bowing and curtsying respectfully to their new ruler. Alec smiled back. The throne didn’t feel as far away as he’d feared it was. He could still see to the back of the room. He could hear the outside world, see the sun streaming in through the windows in amber ribbons. The people were smiling, and he, finally, accepted what others had told him, over and over again: he was born to rule.

And that time had now begun.

Isabelle caught his eye, giving a subtle indication towards the double doors.

_Magnus._

Alec straightened in his throne. His first act as king was to crown a downworlder as a fellow king. Everyone gathered here today knew this, and yet, as he stood once again, fear sunk into his bones. It lapped like fire in his blood, ready to burn out the careful hope he’d spent a long time building.

“As your king,” Alec begun, “I understand that bridges between the land must be created. I'm a mortal king. I have not known the sufferings of most of you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke's chin lift, and the downworlders of the Court leaned in. Hope tingled in the air, and Alec smiled.

"Considering this, I wish to strengthen that promise. My commitment to Idris is thus, as followed. I am to crown the High Warlock, Magnus Bane," he announced, pleased with his calm, steady voice. "Downworlders and mortals have been at war for far too long. It did not start with Valentine’s bloodshed."

Alec gestured around the chamber. "The only way to overcome that is to change from within," he said. "Traditions are changing. Especially those based on ignorance. Our alliance will allow equal power to be bestowed. I promised unity, and Idris will have it. I will see to it, with all the strength I possess, that this land will become more than the broken kingdom it once was.”

Keeping his voice steady, Alec extended a hand, gesturing to the guards at the end of the throne room. They turned to the double doors.

“And so, lords and ladies, friends and allies, please, arise once more.”

Without hesitation, the people rose to their feet again. Some turned, excitedly whispering, and others fell silent, eyes just as eagerly watching the door, and waiting.

Alec gave a nod, and the doors opened once more.

Jem's playing waltzed across the spacious room, but Alec only heard those doors opening, and his warlock appeared before him. In the many years he'd imagined himself as a future king, he'd never once believed he could share it with someone. To offer up his heart was a weakness he couldn't risk. 

Meeting Magnus had changed that, had taken fear and turned it to hope; turned dreams into a reality that Alec used to yearn for. It was all before him now, stretched out along the rich red carpet, extending towards Magnus. 

The crown on Alec's head no longer felt like a burden. It was an _honour_. 

It was, also, an honour to love the man walking across the floor. 

Magnus wore an ebony-black, sleeveless tunic. It reached his ankles, and settled in an embrace around his neck, the material adorned with dark silver, patterns of embroidery. He didn't wear his usual necklaces, but his sharp eyes were lined with midnight black, the corners shimmering. He looked magnificent, head held high for all the land to see.

He was born from magic and fire, his aura radiating with power. It weaved silence out of awe. Everyone watched him, drawn into the warlock's poised bearings, and Alec was enraptured. This wasn't just a warlock walking towards him. It was the man he'd chosen, the man he loved and would love for the rest of his days. 

If there was ever a time for Alec to believe in Angels, it was now. There was a sacred weight in the way their eyes refused to look anywhere but at each other. The amber-gold light shining in was bright, and warm, but Magnus was more than that. He was _divine_. 

Magnus radiated power, but also beauty. Both came from his soul, the choices he'd made, not where he came from. His hands were by his sides, swinging as he strolled, not too quickly, but certainly not hesitantly, towards the thrones, and towards Alec.

He could almost hear the warlock say, _I'm here for my crown, my kingdom, and my heart._

Alec would deny him neither of those. Their rule together would begin soon enough. It was a glorious moment to bear witness to, and Alec felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched his husband stroll towards the platform. He was ready to change a prince into a king.

As Magnus approached, Alec took the waiting, second crown from Luke, waiting for Magnus to reach him. The crown was light and a rich gold in colour, and Alec shivered, anticipating how striking it would look against the black of Magnus' tunic, and the dark hair that he'd tamed down a bit for the coronation.

As Magnus reached the end, he did not bow. He was at ground level, however, and Alec was on the third, raised step, hovering over him. 

Magnus held his gaze, and up close, the stitching on his tunic revealed itself to be leaves and flowers. Alec dug his nails into his own tunic to keep from reaching out.

“Magnus Bane," Alec said, raising his voice so that his words would reach the very back of the hall. "Do you promise to protect the people of Idris?”

“I swear,” Magnus said, his voice ringing out, strong and powerful.

“And do you bind yourself to the kingdom’s heart, and swear to govern fairly?”

“I swear."

Alec met his eyes, and they seemed to say, _I bind myself to **you**._

Alec hid his shiver, burying it behind a smile.

“Then, arise, King Magnus of Idris.”

The spell of silence dancing around the room was suddenly broken. Polite cheers grew louder, honest in their sincerity. Alec beamed, holding out both of his hands to the waiting warlock. His fingers trembled, but his love was unwavering. The gold of his gauntlets matched Magnus' crown, the pair united in their array of black, gold and red. Strong. Bold. Unstoppable. 

The warlock accepted both hands, standing in one, smooth, graceful movement. Magnus took each of the three steps slowly. The intimacy in the touch, and the vulnerability in his eyes, made Alec shiver. He was rising up onto the platform, and when he took that last step, now standing directly before Alec, their hands refused to let go. Alec brushed his trembling fingers across the backs of Magnus' knuckles, fond of every curve, dip and line across the warlock's hands. Magnus' fingers were pleasantly warm as they curled around the other king's, forefingers softly touching the insides of Alec's wrist, where skin met gauntlet. It was a vulnerable spot, and such a simple touch, but Alec felt berthed to it. Alec then raised one of Magnus' hands, pressing it respectfully to his forehead.

Side by side at last, Magnus and Alec turned, together, facing their people. As they sat in their respected thrones, Alec held his breath; fearful, delighted, happy, anxious, and so, so alive.

He had never been prouder to have lived. To have survived wars and grief, to have fought, and won.  

As the two kings sat, the people cheered. Alec caught his friends and family in the sea of people, saw happy faces and proud smiles. He saw heads bowed. Clary, Simon, Raphael were slightly to the left of the crown, onlooking with grins, and Will, Jem and Tessa stood together, bodies pressed comfortably together as they watched their friends become rulers. More surprisingly, Alec saw the Seelie Queen, and her Court guests, offering inclinations of their heads.

The people had spoken: they were accepting. They accepted the kings, and believed in them.

If there had been a slight hollow in Alec's chest - a place where fear and yearning gnawed away - it was now gone. Completely.

He was finally free, in a place where he was the best version of himself. Where he could love, and be loved. 

He was a king, and he was in love with the warlock in the throne beside him. Somehow, against all the odds, his heart had won. The strength of love had won. After time spent in grief and fear and regret, they were now here, seated on thrones and joined by more than the law; by loyalty, hope and the vows they’d exchanged in private.

Idris, finally, had leaders who would unite more than themselves.

The announcer, as tradition called for, cleared his throat, ready to announce their titles for the first time.

Alec angled his head towards Magnus, only wanting to watch him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Court, may I present, King Alec Lightwood of Idris, and King Magnus Bane of Idris?”

“Yes, you may indeed,” Magnus murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear. He already looked like he belonged, reclining lazily and smiling with a charm that stole Alec’s breath all over again.

They exchanged a glance, smiling, unable to conceal it.

“Guess we made it after all,” Alec whispered.

The weight of that truth held much more than a simple congratulations. It was hard work and trust, built up over a long while, but it had been worth every struggle and compromise.

Alec closed his eyes, and went back, back to the beginning.

He found the boy in the library and said, _just you wait. One day, you are going to be king, and you will fall in love with a warlock who changes your world. You will marry him. You will get to spend each day shaping a kingdom into the best it can be. You will discover joy in learning, and the courage it takes to listen to your heart._

_You will respect yourself, and learn to be kinder to yourself. You will stop snuffing out the light inside of you. You will stop fearing others seeing who you truly are._

_You’re going to be more than okay. I promise you._

_Stay strong. You will get there._

And he was, finally, there; home.

 _And so_  Alec thought, _our reign begins._

_~_

Halfway through the celebrations, Alec felt the nerves slip away. He sipped wine from his goblet, occasionally stealing quiet conversation with Isabelle, Jace, or Magnus. The room was a delightful blur of dancing, feasting and general enjoyment. The banquet tables stretched out on either side, leaving space in the middle for dances.

The line to speak to the kings shortened over the course of the evening. Lords and ladies offered polite bows and curtsies, and downworlders approached Magnus with guarded looks, but small smiles.

In return, they greeted their people graciously. The purpose of these meetings was to accept gifts, to make strong impressions on visiting guests. Word easily got around, and the two kings would soon find themselves facing trouble if their neighbouring castles didn’t respect them.

Fortunately, their carefulness was well-rewarded. The people were mainly respectful, with only the occasional stare being thrown their way, mainly out of confusion. They had to be careful. Alec didn’t risk touching Magnus openly yet, and the warlock didn’t flirt outrageously. Those who knew the pair’s history would not mind, and those who didn’t want to know, would chose to ignore it anyway.

But they had taken enough new steps for one day. Crowning two kings was risk enough. For now, it seemed to be going well, and so they revelled in their good fortune, waiting patiently. Most people didn’t care. They had suffered through greater things than seeing two kings in love.

The land had seen darkness and prejudice. Perhaps, Alec hoped, it had had enough of such ordeals. 

As the evening grew on, a special guest finally approached the platform.

Beside him, Alec felt Magnus suddenly stiffen. He turned, already knowing who was coming up to speak to them.

The Seelie Queen wore a red gown, almost the shade of the carpet she glided across. A few of her knights flanked her sides, never straying, and Alec shook his head when Luke and Jace came to step closer.

“Your Majesties,” she greeted coolly. She didn’t curtsy, but the inclination of her head spoke volumes.

Alec raised a fist to his chest. “I appreciate you coming. I am pleased you decided to celebrate with us.”

“Your celebrations are rather dull in comparison, but yes, I decided to see what happened here today.”

Her words were almost a tease, but Alec didn’t trust his judgement enough to retort. He simply nodded, staying quiet. The surrounding room was merry and loud, and Alec hid a grin as he briefly caught sight of Jem - thoughtfully - forcing a goblet of water down a stumbling Will's throat. The tipsy man was giddy, but Jem eventually got some water down the other knight. Only then did he accept a quick, stolen kiss, with Tessa laughing as she watched the struggle come to an end. 

“I did not bring a gift,” the Seelie Queen announced, drawing Alec's attention back to her. “I thought you would find it…unsafe.” The way she said the word was almost apologetic. If faeries respected one thing, it was custom, but Alec understood her meaning. She didn’t think their alliance was strong enough to rule out suspicion yet. Whatever she gifted the pair with would be under serious observation.

Thankfully, Magnus swiftly cut in. “Your presence is gift enough,” the warlock king said smoothly. His smile was edged with careful humour, the perfect balance of genuine gratitude and light tease.

The Queen did, in fact, smile at that. She turned, readying to step away, when Alec slowly held out a hand.

“Actually,” he began, “would you honour our Court with a dance? From your own?” He said this quietly, not wanting to pressure such a powerful woman. But he'd clung to the memory of that dance, from her celebration, and longed to see it again. 

An unreadable emotion flickered across her face, but then the Queen smiled.

“Very well,” she murmured, and turned to a few of her own musicians. They nudged aside the castle court musicians, who simply shrugged and stepped away, equally as curious as the others. After a long pause, the Seelies began their dance; in pairs, and small circles. It was a slow, but by no means simple dance.

It was, Alec suddenly realised, the one that they'd danced on the night of the Queen's celebrations. 

Alec beamed, watching fondly as the familiar steps wove themselves around the room. He felt Magnus smiling beside him, resting a hand gently atop his on the throne's armrest. 

"Oh, how the times change," Magnus murmured quietly, his breath teasing at Alec's ear.

The king grinned back. "Yeah," he agreed. "We're wearing far more appropriate clothing this time."

Magnus appeared both amused and saddened by this turn of events. 

After the dance had slowed down its pace, becoming the gentle, thoughtful pair dance that Alec recalled, the king took a deep breath. He sucked it in, melting courage into his voice.

He extended a hand to Magnus and asked, "May I have the honour?"

The warlock hesitated, glancing about the room, and then he grinned, eyes twinkling. "If his Majesty insists."

"It is, after all, custom," Alec pointed out, and Magnus huffed out a laugh, but nodded as they stepped off the platform together. 

They slipped into the crowd, and although a few looked surprised, the rest of the Court simply parted to give them room. The faeries looked delighted, and Luciana wove her way over, tugging them into her circle. They had to concentrate on the steps, but Alec enjoyed the dance.

Simply because, he'd learned a valuable lesson: Magnus' laughter was a melody that could guide him through even the hardest of steps. His hands could shield Alec from even the darkest of storms. In return, Alec would make sure that his words, and his love, would gift Magnus with a single promise; to love him until their souls left the world. Together.

"Why do you stare so, Your Majesty?" Magnus teased quietly, when the steps required them to circle each other slowly.

Alec shrugged, keeping his voice steady as he said, "I'm trying to work out if I like you best wearing a crown, or nothing at all." 

The speechless look on Magnus' face was worth the risk of embarrassment. Alec had never been an expert in flirtation, but he grinned as Magnus' face flushed. He gripped his waist tighter, fingers curling into the thick, soft fabric of his robes.

"I stare," he added, "because you're beautiful. Remember?" he added softly.

The corner of Magnus' mouth tugged up, the gesture amused and affectionate.

"Yes," the warlock said, "I remember, Alexander." 

And he did. Because Alec remembered too. He'd recall every memory of theirs, use it as warmth in dark days, and create new ones when the days grew harder to bear. 

After a short while, they returned to their thrones, having more people to see, but they’d balanced out time for themselves as well. It would take some getting used to, balancing duties and the heart, but Alec was confident, more than ever before, that if anyone could work that out, it would be them.

The ring on Alec's finger gripped him like a tight embrace, the crown on his head lifting his chin. He was bonded by both, by his heart, and his duty. 

At long last, he felt complete.

~

Halfway through the evening, Magnus found himself slipping out into the castle's empty corridors. Music and cheers continued to echo around him, the coronation banquet now in full swing, but Magnus needed some solitude. He was used to celebrations getting out of hand, or worse, falling flat, but he needed a moment for himself.

Alec sensed it, and just as the Blackthorn Castle representatives left, he nudged Magnus with an elbow, inclining his head towards the door.

Magnus mouthed out a 'thank you', and squeezed his hand once before leaving. He would never get used to the unspoken words, to Alec's intelligence, and genuine selflessness. He was cynical at times, and stubborn, but his goodness shone through.

 _I married the right man_ , Magnus happily thought.

It washed over him again, that peaceful, giddy joy. He was married. He was in love, and alive, and surrounded by a kingdom's loyalty. 

For a long moment, he thought of Catarina and Ragnor, sent a fierce prayer down to wherever they were. He had faith, and believed in their strength. When they returned, he would be delighted, and rejoice. For now, they would live in the folded away pages of his heart, tucked safely away, ready to be opened again. In the night, Alec had held him, listening attentively as Magnus explained where his friends were. It had been tough to relive it, but a shared burden was better than a secretive one. 

He found an alcove in the wall, where a small bench occupied the space below a glass window. He sat down, smoothing down his lovely robe. The crown on his head would take some getting used to, but Magnus plucked it off his head, gently running his fingertips over the gold, and found himself smiling. The blurry reflection in the metal smiled back, and he winked, before putting it back in place.

Knowing he ought to return soon, Magnus began to stare up at the stained glass. The image captured an Angel falling from the Heavens, but as Magnus studied the fallen angel's face, he could only see a waiting adventure, and a rough beginning that would lead to a happy ending. 

He no longer saw his past as something to be ashamed of, or to fear. His demon blood was a part of him. So was his magic, and his friends. Every choice he'd made that mattered more than who his birth father was. 

That was, and would always be, his true nature; to love and protect. 

He closed his head, smiling as the sounds of the celebrations drifted over him again. 

"Magnus?" a voice suddenly called out, heels clicking against the stone floor.  

When he opened his eyes again, Maryse Lightwood stood before him, careful indifference in her expression.

She didn't smile, or frown. She only asked, "Can I have a moment?" She regarded him slowly, watching as he shifted on the bench.

Deciding that tonight wasn't a night for pettiness, Magnus inclined his head to the space, inviting her to sit beside him. Given the time, he could give himself a dozen reasons to decline. But he was too happy, too at ease to feel restless. 

When she sat down, Maryse left some distance between them, but Magnus didn't care. The silence wasn’t unbearable.

Magnus waited.

“I sent Alec into the Shadowlands to protect him. I wanted him to see the dangers in the world, to see why everything I did – the bans, the Accords, all of it – was for their sake. I thought I was wise.”

Choosing a spot in the stained glass to focus on, Magnus didn't watch her. He let her speak, keenly focused on the words that left her lips. He didn't want lies from Maryse. He only wanted the truth.

Still, Magnus took careful note of her past tense, and again, waited. 

Maryse cleared her throat, and Magnus knew that the woman wasn't used to apologies. 

“I make no excuses for my actions," Maryse said.

 _And here I thought we were heading in the right direction,_ Magnus thought, hiding a sardonic smile.

But she surprised him then, turning sharply to look directly at him. 

"Ruling a kingdom is a strain, as you will find out," Maryse began, "but it is a burden you bear with pride. I...I came here to say...Magic destroyed my family. It took my young child’s life." Maryse's voice was low, flat with constricted emotion. Magnus didn't need to look to see her pain. She pushed the words out like they came with fire. But she fought the flames, and continued on.

She paused, inhaling deeply, and then continued. "I know that Valentine’s involvement was undeniable, yet…I clung to the belief that magic was the sole destruction of our kind. We had to keep it in line, keep downworlders in line.”

Magnus did flinch then, out of anger, hurt and understanding. Her prejudices were taught by those who came before, and those surrounding her. Alec had been right: change was slow, and Maryse was proof of that.

The woman sighed. She turned her head away again, and Magnus risked stealing a glance. He saw a proud woman, yes, but he also saw a learning one. Maryse's jaw was relaxed, and the usual tension she carried in her shoulders was gone. 

“Alec has changed,” Maryse said, and her voice sounded faraway. Almost grateful. “He isn’t the same man I sent off on a foolish quest," Maryse admitted. "Before, he was strong, and loyal, but I understand that what he carries now is more important. Love.”

She said the word quickly, and Magnus tried not to bristle. He didn't sense judgement from Maryse, only curiosity.

"You are not…who I want for Alec. You go against everything I have been taught to see as good, but…you saved my son," Maryse said quietly. She was facing him again, imploring him to meet her eyes. "You sacrificed yourself willingly to destroy the Cup, an object that would wipe us all out. I believe," she said, resting a hand on the bench between them, "I am trying to say thank you."

In her smile, there was a hint of amusement - even if it was awkwardness too - when Magnus finally glanced across at her.

Magnus nodded, unsure of what to say. They had far to go, a great distance to bridge, and yet, sitting beside Maryse, Magnus could see the resemblance between the woman and her son. He saw the same fierce loyalty, the same headstrong chip in her shoulders. He also saw a protective mother, and a queen who had been led by duty, and fear. She was a complicated woman.

Magnus had learned at least one consistent thing in his life: no person was without depth.

“In the future,” Maryse said, “I hope we can…understand each other.”

The message was clear, but surprisingly not a cold one. It was: _I don’t understand you yet, but I am going to try._

Magnus nodded. He had one lifetime to live, and he wasn’t going to hold useless grudges. This was a woman he’d see frequently. He’d respect her ideas. She’d ruled for many years, even if it wasn’t a rule Magnus and his people thrived under.

She was willing to grow, and Magnus would see how things developed.

“We should head back inside,” Magnus said. As they walked side by side along the corridor, he found himself offering, “Care for a glass of the best wine you will ever taste?”

“Oh. If you insist," she said indifferently, but not unkindly. "I heard you like to drink,” Maryse offered, and Magnus hid his eye roll well.

“Water it is,” he muttered.

But he was smirking as they re-entered the hall, rather pleasantly surprised to see that Maryse was also smiling.

~

A fortnight later, and Alec found himself with an armful of books, and a busy schedule ahead of it. And a grinning warlock. 

"Alexander, don't dawdle, my love. Our first Council awaits."

"Stop reminding me," Alec muttered, gripping his arms around the stack of books he carried. "It's not like I've fretted enough in my sleep."

"I would know. My bed is your bed."

At that, Alec felt his smile return, nipping the worries back into place. He was walking beside Magnus towards the main chamber, at where their first council meeting was soon to take place, but first they were making a quick trip. 

With the books in their arms, Alec waited until Magnus had created the portal, and the he stepped inside. 

Ash Tower had been transformed into floors and floors of books, and the rooms had been redesigned to house many chairs and tables. Potions were exchanged for eager-eyed children. Voices filled the Tower, echoing off the walls in an array of laughter, instructions and questions. 

"It looks great," Alec said, glancing around in awe. Beside him, Magnus nodded, beaming as well. His former home was now a place of learning and teaching, part-library, part-school. 

"It does," Magnus agreed. "Oh, there you are, darlings." The warlock let out a pleased sigh as two small creatures purred their warm greetings. "And how are you, my dears?" Magnus asked the cats, leaning down to stroke their heads. They curled around Magnus' ankles, nuzzling his thigh. "Are you enjoying being pampered by the children?"

Alec laughed, turning to settle the books down on the nearest, empty table. He bent down to scratch Church's head. The two cats came and went, sometimes coming to the castle, or staying here. Magnus had told him that they were creatures of solitude, but they cared for special individuals.

Alec was delighted when one morning he woke in the castle chambers to see Chairman peering up at him. The cat had given his cheek a rough lick, examining the human beside his owner's new bed. Magnus had spent ten minutes trying to silence his laughter, and eventually, introduced his husband to his two feline friends. 

"So," Alec began, back in the present, "whose class needs these books?"

"Teva's," Magnus explained. He beckoned, leading Alec up one of the staircases, onto the second floor. They walked quietly, carefully balancing the books in their arms as Magnus explained. "They're studying ancient languages. Fae. Angels. The Northern Island dialects." 

Now that places of knowledge were beginning to open up again, free under the kings' new rule, Ash Tower had become one of the first schools to teach children together; warlocks, werewolves, humans and faeries. It wasn't a crowded place. Not yet. But it was a start. Most of the orphaned children from the war with Valentine stayed here, and it had become, just as Alec knew Magnus wanted, a place of recovery and love. 

As they reached the door leading to the classroom, Alec peered in through the small hole. He saw Teva walking, calmly explaining a language to the children. They were small, and ranged in appearances, but they were all focused, learning together. 

Seeing the differences made a smile cross Alec's face.

This was what he'd wanted: a future where those who came afterwards would be free to explore who they were, and what they wanted, from the very beginning. 

Magnus knocked on the door, knuckles making a soft tap on the wood. 

When it swung open, he stepped inside gracefully, coming into the room with a smile on his face. Alec hovered in the doorway for a moment. One king walking into the classroom would be a surprise. Would two be overwhelming? 

But the class beamed as Magnus entered. They didn't flinch or stare, wide-eyed. They looked eager.

Alec suddenly caught sight of a familiar face in the second row. Madzie was watching him carefully, thoughtful eyes softening some of the worry in his chest. She inclined her head as if it encourage him in, and Alec gave in to the urge, and grinned back. 

"And, so, class," Magnus was saying, "that's why you should always spin in circles as you enter the Spring Court. Or crush berry juice into your eyes," he added, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I've yet to try that one. Report back to me if anyone tries it, hm?"

Before the giggling class got out of control, Alec interrupted with a careful smile. He placed the books on the front desks, gesturing for the children to pass them around. Madzie caught his eye again, and she gave a little wave. Alec returned it, pointing to her neck and mouthing out, 'still cool'. 

"Now," Magnus began, "does anyone want to help me cast a spell? I need a very special volunteer." His eyes shone with mischief and joy, and the pupils leaned in, excited. Their king was a warlock, and apparently a charming one, and Alec laughed at their eagerly raised hands. 

Teva was leaning against the wall, indulging her friend's harmless game. A content smile was on her face.

Hiding his mouth behind a raised hand, Alec then leaned in to whisper into Magnus' ear, "The girl in the second row. With the gills. Madzie. You should pick her."

Arching an eyebrow, Magnus regarded him with a curious look. His eyes flickered to the young warlock, and then his lips curved into a beautiful smile. A devastatingly charming one. He winked, and Alec told himself that he needed to stop flushing every damn time Magnus did that.

“Alright,” Magnus agreed. He pretended to survey the class, and then clicked his fingers, pointing at Madzie.

"You," he said, "come up, sweet pea?"

She hesitated. For a moment, surprise flashed across her face, and then the young girl nodded. She came up to the front of the class, waiting obediently beside Magnus, who was now reaching for one of the books. He held it out to Madzie and pointed out a herb described on the page.

"Can you remember what this looks like?"

Madzie nodded, already glancing back up, and away from the book.

Magnus narrowed his eyes playfully. "Are you sure?"

The young warlock nodded, her grin growing in response to his challenge. 

Alec just watched, equally as drawn in as the surrounding class were.

Magnus clicked his fingers together, summoning a handful of ingredients in small glass bottles and bowls. They were spread out across the table, and the class perched forwards in their seats. 

"Now, what I want you to do, Madzie, is to close your eyes, and try and sense the ingredients around you. Notice the essence of them. When you're ready, reach out a hand, and try and locate the one I pointed out. Not with your eyes, but with your mind. Summon the bottle closer."

Alec realised what the game was. It was fun, and a challenge, but it was also Magnus helping a young warlock to engage with her own strength. He was teaching her to open up to the sensation of magic, and the depths of the world around her. Alec knew how Magnus had navigated his powers on his own. As a child, he'd discovered his gifts alone. Which was why, now, Magnus took every opportunity to help someone, to ensure there were no more helpless wanders. 

Madzie squeezed her eyes together, lips tightening in concentration. It was endearing, how she held out a hand, her brows furrowing. 

When one of the bottles twitched, it suddenly stilled. Another one glided smoothly across the table, coming into Madzie's hands.

She opened her eyes, grinning triumphantly. She handed the bottle over to Magnus.

"Thank you, dear," Magnus said smoothly, plucking the offering carefully from her hands. Alec hid his grin. Only he had seen the flick of the warlock's wrist, as he'd changed the bottle to the right one. It didn't matter. Madzie's abilities were clearly strong if she was able to focus her magic, even on the wrong thing. 

While she rejoined her classmates, and Teva returned to their lesson, Magnus once again snapped his fingers together. The gathered ingredients disappeared. Of course there had likely never been a spell in the first place. Magnus had just wanted to engage with the class, help them to see their gifts as intelligent, not fearful. 

Alec noticed that Magnus kept the bottle Madzie had chosen in his hands.

"What's in it?" Alec asked quietly, leaning closer as they began to walk down the stairs again.

Magnus held it out to him in silent answer.

Small, purple flowers decorated the bottom of the jar. 

Alec paused, blinking in surprise. It had taken him a moment to work out the connection, but then the memory jolted back into place. 

"Purple peonies," he said.

Magnus nodded. 

Long ago, Alec had been a prince, who looked up at this very same Tower. He'd seen purple flowers decorating the enchanted tree growing around the turret. 

It had been the product of a spell, but still, a shiver ran down Alec's spine. 

"Destiny really likes flowers," Alec joked. Magnus chuckled quietly in agreement. 

But Alec knew that destiny or otherwise, life was a series of connections. The land he ruled was filled with wonderful magic and possibility. He was a part of that, and he would make that choice, again and again.

"Council time?" Magnus asked, summoning another portal for them to return to the castle. 

Alec nodded, smoothing down his tunic. "Yes," he agreed.

~

To the king's surprise, the first official meeting went smoothly. 

The large, wooden, round table that took up most of the spacious chamber was in the centre of the hall. It was a warm day, and streams of light broke through the glass windows. It hit the table, warming the faces around it too. Representatives from the Seelie Court had arrived, Helen and Aline included, and werewolf packs had travelled from the Shadowlands, and Idris, to join. The invitation was open to all. Places around the table were limited, for now, but Alec made sure that everyone had a voice. Each faerie Court was here, and village leaders, Alphas and Guild members alike had come to the meeting.

Alec and Magnus entered together, and Alec tightly gripped the edge of the table as they sat down. He was nervous, yes, but his anticipation boiled from eagerness too. He was ready to start changing traditions, and the time had finally arrived.

Smiles and curious expressions danced around the table, waiting for their kings to speak.

Magnus, thankfully, broke the silence.

"Welcome," he began, voice singing out like the first notes of a prayer; low, clear and musical. "Thank you for travelling to join us today. Idris welcomes you all. Now, we have much to discuss, and this will not all be covered today, but the king and I are keen to hear your concerns, and your queries."

Alec felt his chin lift, and as Magnus continued on, he found Isabelle and Jace's faces, meeting their smiles with a quick one of his own. His brother and sister were happy, and Alec returned the sentiment easily. They were all building a future, together, and it was theirs to command and shape. He saw Jem and Will, Helen and Aline, Lydia, Clary, Luke, his mother, the Seelie Queen, and Isaac, from the Guild. Luciana was to the right of Maia, the two now fast friends. 

He saw the gleam in their eyes, the commitment, and united purpose. 

He smiled back. 

"And so, we invite you to scrutinise the Accords. They will be amended and changed," Magnus said, "and if need be, abolished completely. This is a new age. There is a new sky of stars to fashion."

Alec nodded in agreement. "So," he began, "who would like to begin?"

~

Hours passed, and the council debated and conversed in detail. Rules were given close attention to, and arguments - spoken in raised words, not voices - were given. The Accords were starting to become a sign of hope, something that finally everyone would benefit from. Public appearances from the kings would help to enforce these laws, such as the one granting unions to whomever chose to marry. 

This was broached by faerie representatives of the Summer Court, who volunteered the idea. In their realm, back in the Shadowlands, marriage was not divided by gender or class. It was an unbreakable bond, but more importantly, one that was a key role in acceptance.

"By changing the law for unions," the green-skinned faerie with indigo hair said softly, "you will bring about a different kind of change. It may appear to be irrelevant, but these ideas catch like a flame. If you ignite separation, divides burn quickly. If you ignite hope and unity, acceptance burns across the map of the world."

Nodding, Alec began to draft up the wording for that particular rule, and then they moved on.

On and on it went, until problems were heard, and suggestions made. Everyone's offerings were reasonable, and some were hesitant, but agreed to offer next time, to report back to their leaders first. Alec knew that someone would be unsure, that they had been sent as liaisons; to listen and report back, not to engage.

Alec was fine with this. They'd expected bumps in the road, after all.

But this, the king knew, was a solid start.

As the meeting came to a comfortable close, Alec and Magnus guided everyone out of the room, shaking hands and exchanging polite conversation. Isabelle was an excellent conversationalist and smoothed over a few agitated lords and ladies, but everyone else was giving them a chance, fortunately. It had been hard-won, and was fragile, but the future, for now, was hopeful.

As the last of the werewolf Alphas left, heading for their pack in the Shadowlands, Alec sighed. He was tired, but he'd also never felt more awake. His bones hummed with energy, the anxiety turning to action and change that were finally spreading across the kingdom.

Magnus caught his look, wearing a proud smile of his own.

"I know," was all Magnus said, whispering it against his lips, more intimate than the kiss itself. They wrapped their arms around each other, pausing in the empty chamber, stealing a moment to themselves.

Just as Alec turned to step outside, a hand on the door, Magnus reached for his wrist. His fingers curled around his sleeve, tugging. A brazen smile appeared on his face, lifting Alec's spirits even more.

"I'm not done with you yet," Magnus teased. Before Alec could protest - but he wasn't going to, not really - a portal appeared behind the warlock. Magnus kept his back to it, slowly walking closer, and dragging Alec through with him.

It wasn't a decision he had to make. Alec knew his answer. _Yes_.

It was always yes with Magnus. Yes, I will follow you. Yes, I will lead you. Yes, I am yours and you are mine.

After they'd materialised elsewhere, Alec blinked against the brightness. Portals always left him extremely aware of sensation; the colours were stronger, the sounds were louder. Many complained of magic's effects, it made them ill or unsteady. Alec revelled in it. He loved the sensations, could pluck them like strings, and play them forever in his heart.

It made sense, after all. The love of his life was born from the very same magic. 

That very same warlock was now grinning, shoulders shimmying as he swayed. He gestured around them, waiting for Alec to notice.

When he did, Alec chuckled. "This is dramatic, even for you,” he said. Even so, as he teased, he was also struggling to comprehend the fulfilment he felt. The castle's private library was empty, just as it had been when they'd first met, many years ago. It was warm, the scent of old pages, musty and inviting, flickering around the room.

"Can I tell you something, Alexander?" Magnus began. He drew Alec closer, leading him with both hands. When they reached a familiar spot, between two aisles, Magnus let go. He turned Alec around, so that he was facing the archway entrance. 

"Right over here," Magnus said quietly, "is where I met my husband." 

“I was seven,” Alec huffed out. He kept his tease quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. He stared at the archway, the ghost of a boy hovering in the doorway. He could see it in his mind, the memory vague, but there. It would always be there. 

And when it faded, the warlock wouldn't. Magnus would forever be by his side. 

“Don’t cheapen the moment, darling,” Magnus warned. “I didn’t love him then. Obviously,” he added with a pointed look. He wrapped his arms around Alec's waist, his chin dipping into the crook of his neck. Magnus' voice was soft against his ear, as he embraced him from behind. “The boy carried a heavy burden on his shoulders. He was a prince. A Lightwood. I thought I’d never see him again, but I remember that he called me beautiful, and I though, perhaps, there is hope.”

Alec closed his eyes, letting his smile blossom. With Magnus' arms around his waist, and his voice in his ear, he felt truly at peace. No, not at peace, but at home. Home was sensation. Home was, to Alec, a place of trust, and love, and knowing when to accept help. Home was Magnus, and it was here to stay. 

After a long moment, Alec eventually opened his eyes. He gently plucked the warlock's arms from his waist, giving himself enough room to turn around. Now that he was facing Magnus, the words came even easier. Magnus' arms re-circled his waist, pulling the other king closer. Forehead pressed together, Alec smiled, bathing in the amber light, and the fiercer light warming his chest. 

“Right here,” Alec finally said, “is where this warlock stole books from our private library.”

“I did not,” Magnus protested, lifting his nose into the air. He gave an indignant snort, but then a grin broke out across his face. “Wait, this is also _my_ library now. How can I steal books that belong to me in the eye of the law?”

Alec raised an eyebrow at his antics. “You’re troublesome,” he said. 

Magnus nodded, smiling cheerfully, and without an inch of guilt. “You’re only now realising this?" he teased. "You married me, Alexander. You should have been more careful who you gave your heart to." He held up his forefinger, the sight of the gold ring never failing to make Alec lose any coherent thought. 

“I would give it to you again," Alec promised. "Whatever happened, in whatever life, we would’ve met. We’d fall in love and rule a kingdom. Together.”

It didn't sound dreamy or unreachable. It was a truth Alec believed in. The love between them couldn't be held captive by time or distance. There was a harmony in their union that moved mountains and birthed change. 

“Hm, why's that? Because it’s destiny?” Magnus said teasingly.

“No,” Alec said, shaking his head, “because it’s your heart, and mine, and not a damn thing can stop them from holding onto each other." When Magnus blinked, vulnerability softening his expression, Alec carried on. "My hands aren’t the strongest, but they’ll never stop reaching for yours," he promised quietly. He reached out, and with a hand, cupped Magnus' jaw in his tender grip. "I’m not the bravest man, or fearless, or an Angel. I'll make mistakes, but I’ll always come to you when I am afraid. I’ll always borrow your strength, and give you mine when you are darkened by fear."

Alec breathed in the words, knowing that his heart was singing into them, and Magnus' was ready to move into harmony with it.

"Destiny or not," Alec said, "you are mine, Magnus, and I am yours.”

The library's quiet space suddenly became filled with tender affection. It was an embrace of its own. 

As Magnus leaned forward, Alec was ready and waiting. He dipped his chin, just a fraction, and the warlock's lips met his, slowly, at first, and then eagerly. His hands wove themselves into Alec's hair, tugging him closer, like he was determined to banish all space between them. Alec grinned, helplessly, and soon, Magnus was laughing too, the kiss becoming shared laughter and breath. It was a wonderful, exhilarating feeling, to laugh against another's lips. It was unspoken affection, the kind that warmed Alec's heart, and made him believe in more than the Heavens above, or Hell below. He believed in what he could feel, and he felt Magnus' love, in all its complicated, divine wholeness. 

Magnus stayed in his arms, grinning up at Alec. The corners of his crown caught the light, the gold matching his eyes as the glamour dropped. There was that danger again, that power radiating. All at once, the warlock was gentle and compassionate, enchanting and otherworldly.

“Your Majesty," Magnus murmured, voice hoarse and eager, "that was quite the speech,” 

“Well, Your Majesty,” Alec repeated the title with a smirk, “that’s what happens when you fall madly in love, and marry, a warlock who has a flair for the dramatics.” He pulled his hand away to imitate just one of Magnus' many endearing gestures. 

The warlock slapped his hand away, chest vibrating with laughter. 

“Then let me take a page from your book, in return,” Magnus offered in a low tone, “and let me speak with touch.”

His long, graceful fingers took hold of Alec's face. They were the paintbrush, and Alec's face was an open canvas. With each touch, Magnus wove a new colour into Alec's skin, and soul. He touched his brow and calm green chased the calm back into Alec. He traced his cheeks, and lips, and sunlight burst like joy behind Alec's eyelids. Magnus brushed across his jaw, and finally, lowered his hands to Alec's sides. He linked their hands together, slowly and with patient care. He had all the time in the world. Holding Alec's unwavering gaze, Magnus lifted up their joined hands, and rested them against his forehead. It was just like Alec had done at their coronation, only the intimacy was even greater, as Magnus lifted his chin and brushed his lips across the back.

His lips made a home of Alec's hands, holding them to his mouth. For a long moment, he stilled, holding the pose like he was praying. 

He was making a silent promise, and Alec felt a tear roll down his cheek. Magnus was promising himself to this, to their love. 

Magnus’ eyes were glistening too as he looked up, smiling softly. 

"I love you, Alexander. With all that I am; magic, blood and soul. And my unbeatable grasp of fashion." 

Quiet laughter spilled from Alec's lips. He gazed back with a tender look, accepting all of the man who stood before him. 

“Moment stolen,” Alec said, “let’s go back to the throne room. I rather like the look of you sitting beside me.”

Magnus' grin grew sly. "Oh, really?"

Alec sent a silent prayer to whoever was watching over, because his thoughts, in that moment, were definitely sinful. 

It didn't help when Magnus shimmied closer again, casually circling Alec's neck with his arms. “Remind me to add throne…relations,” Magnus said slyly, “onto our to-do list.” His fingertips tickled the nape of Alec's neck. 

Alec met his remarks with a self-assured smirk. "Well, I wanted to kiss you the last time you sat on a throne, before the battle," he admitted. "Do you remember? You were dressed in black, and you had those necklaces on, and I just wanted to kick everyone out and have my way with you right there and then.”

To his delight, Magnus gaped. His fingers loosened, and then tightened, coming around to tease at Alec's stubble now. 

“Alexander, I have created a monster. Can I keep him?” the warlock king teased.

“He’d like that,” Alec said. His expression softened. “I love you. Thank you for taking this path with me.”

Magnus didn't need him to elaborate. He simply said, "People go their whole lives lonely. Some princes belong with princesses, others belong with flashy warlocks with strange eyes." Magnus grinned, looping his arm through Alec's as they turned for the door.

"And sometimes," Magnus said, "an immortal prince who once thought his place was in the darkness, finds home in gold-" the warlock tapped his fingers to their crowns- “and light,” he finished quietly, looking across, at where the light streamed in.

Alec liked this. Gold and light. Entities of metal and nature, strength and magic. It was a nice balance, things that could crumble, and things that could survive. It was life, and it was theirs, for a long while. 

"So," Magnus said, "Your Majesty, the new day awaits."

Alec nodded, holding his gaze. They paused at the door, hovering in the archway together. Always together. 

He could practically hear the guards catching up with them, but Alec couldn't help but smile.

Once upon a time, he'd been a lonely boy, meeting a lonely warlock. He'd fled from his guards and hurtled straight into an adventure. 

Once upon a time, he'd yearned for a love that now was his to embrace. 

Destiny or otherwise, Alec was happy. 

And that, he thought, was worth seeking; more than any Mortal Cup, or danger, or unstoppable fate. 

"You're staring again, Alexander," Magnus whispered.

"Get used to it," Alec murmured, quickly leaning in to steal one last kiss. 

Magnus' expression shifted, softening. "No," he said quietly, "I don't think I ever will."

Alec knew exactly what he meant. Every day was a blessing, and they'd make the most of each and every one. 

Once upon a time, he had been afraid.

And now?

Now, he was in love. He was a king, and he was married. 

He had never felt stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the last chapter!  
> Let me know which parts you liked :)  
> Coronation outfits inspirations:  
> Magnus - https://68.media.tumblr.com/9efc3222cf3e92bc9148faaad0f3e175/tumblr_inline_oo1zxf4ENZ1rdwtt0_540.jpg  
> Alec - https://68.media.tumblr.com/a4b0a5038348b4ed4e452e5b33c0894a/tumblr_inline_oodg1gDt2H1rdwtt0_540.jpg  
> Coronation music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ccYq-nE2X4  
> There is an epilogue to come :)  
> I'm on twitter @clockworkswan96, and tumblr; clockworkswans.


	23. Epilogue - Where All The Best Stories Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the epilogue :)  
> I'm not sure what to say!  
> Thank you for following this story, and sending me all your wonderful comments. They mean the world to me, and this story has been one of my favourites to develop and explore a new world within. It's been a fun year of flexing my writing muscles, and this fic is one of my proudest achievements. :)  
> Fic playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLh7oAO6hgefEqS6kZhHkJVDTcUa4BFdPc  
> Twitter - @clockworkswan96.  
> Tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Happy reading! xx

_2 years later_

_~_

“I’ve heard of a fire message, but this is extreme.”

“That’s my friends for you, dear. Sending notes, even from Edom itself,” Magnus agreed, but no one could wipe away his smile. Not today. He was still holding onto the parchment, now neatly folded in his hand. The slightly slanted, elegant writing of Catarina's was unmistakable. The letter had been perched on the warlock king’s desk this morning. He’d returned from a rather dull meeting to see it, and it had changed everything.

He’d fled straight back out of the room, sought out his husband, and waved the letter before Alec.

It had been approaching the second anniversary of their wedding – and coronation - but secretly, in his heart, Magnus had allowed himself to hope, and prepare, for a third thing: a reunion. Alec hadn’t addressed it, but his silent support was always there. He kept Magnus busy with celebration plans, as the kingdom was putting on a rather spectacular celebration in their honour.

Idris' festival had lasted for six days, with the last night bringing a merry close to the events. Jace and Lydia led demonstrations of sword-fighting and tournaments, allowing eligible contenders to compete for spaces to train under the knights. Clary and Isabelle judged, and three young girls and boys were eventually selected.

The culmination of the celebrations was being held at the castle later tonight. It was to be a lavish – per Magnus’ input – affair of dancing and dining. If there was one thing the warlock king of Idris knew how to do, it was how to throw a magnificent banquet. Besides ruling justly, of course. 

That morning, however, Magnus and Alec rode out across the long, dirt paths and forests together, heading for Ash Tower. The celebrations were well underway, but they slipped away, stealing the afternoon for themselves. Those at the castle were more than content to oversee the rest of the banquet preparations. 

On the way, the kings briefly slowed down outside the walls of the castle. Letting Alec take the lead slightly, Magnus gently pressed his heels into the flank of his steed. The horse's ears pricked up, and then he began to slow. 

The kings dismounted and approached the private gardens, reaching the small, iron gate. Together, hand in hand, they strolled past the headstones, some worn by time and vine-covered, and others from more recent battles. Around the corner, a taller headstone came into view. The graveyard was quiet, but warm, and Magnus’ plum-purple robes swayed in the surrounding breeze.

As they greeted the marble headstone, Magnus didn't say a word. He simply gripped Alec’s hand tightly. It surprised him still, after all the years together, that he was able to do this: to take a king’s hand and feel the balance between strength and vulnerability. He could be king and lover, friend and partner.

Alec’s gaze was focused ahead, staring fiercely at his late father’s stone. He knelt and placed the array of flowers they’d chosen by the stone, shifting it for a moment. He stayed kneeling for a minute, and Magnus waited patiently. He didn’t have anything to say. This was in memory of Robert’s death, of Alec’s father. The late king had never been someone Magnus particularly liked, but he sympathised with his husband losing a man who had always been there, always been a guide, no matter how divided their beliefs had been.

Isabelle and Jace had visited with Maryse earlier that morning, while Magnus and Alec finished double checking the banquet arrangements for tonight.

Magnus rested a hand over Alec's shoulder, and after a quiet sigh pushed from his lips, Alec reached up and held his husband's arm in place, anchoring himself to the other king.

They were silent, together, sharing the late afternoon solitude. Alec occasionally spoke aloud, but mainly he stayed silent, kneeling by his father's grave in respect. Quarter of an hour had passed by the time Alec slowly pushed onto his feet.

Magnus helped him up with a hand, smiling softly. "All good?" he asked. 

Alec nodded, returning the smile with only a hint of tension. "It's strange, isn't it?" Alec suddenly begun. He half-turned, gesturing to the gravestone. "My father gave his life in the same year that mine truly began.”

“How do you mean, dear?”

“Well, it’s just…With everything that happened – Valentine, the new Accords, the war – it all led to this.” Alec glanced across at him, the corners of his lips tugging up. “I lost love, but I found it as well. I found _you_. And now, because of my father, I get to rule with the man I love. Though I doubt he’d agree entirely of that choice,” Alec’s voice lowered to a gruff tone of amusement. He shook his head, his expression caught between sadness and laughter.

It was an emotion that Magnus found most common. Born mortal, immortal, werewolf or human, the divide between feelings was often blurred. Sadness was saved by happiness, or forgiveness was mixed in with confusion.

“I see,” Magnus quietly said. In reply, he tentatively rested his palm against Alec's cheek. The other king's smile grew, soft but sure. There was nothing else to add. Alec wasn’t looking for a confirmation, just support. They’d loved and ruled together enough to read each other so easily. Magnus didn’t need Alec to speak, he could read the creased lines of his forehead, and the hesitation in his words.

“So,” Alec said, a smile pushing aside Magnus’ worries. “Onward?”

Magnus let himself return the smile, but he kept his expression open, understanding if Alec needed more time.

“Are you sure?”

Stealing one last look at his father's grave, Alec then nodded. "I'm sure," he confirmed, plucking at Magnus' fingertips to entwine their hands together. "Besides," Alec reminded him, as they began the short walk back to their horses, "you've got your own family waiting."

At that, Magnus couldn’t conceal his joy anymore. Warmth settled against his chest, a light pressure of relief and anticipation. 

“I do,” he let himself admit, and then he was grinning, all teeth and promise and excitement.

Alec laughed, low in his throat. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he murmured. Studying Magnus with open affection, Alec's hand slipped from Magnus’ grasp, and the king reached up to gently cup one side of the warlock’s face.

Magnus inclined his head, just a fraction, but enough to rest against Alec’s forehead. The breeze tickled his exposed neck and face and Magnus savoured the solitude of the moment. Being surrounded by loss and love at the same time was strangely common. The two existed in harmony. It was simple and human. Balanced.

When their horses reappeared in sight, the pair broke apart, mounting the waiting steeds. 

Alec reached for the reins, and met Magnus' eyes, nodding once to confirm he was all set. 

“Ready?" the king asked.

Although he was pleased, he still grimaced. “Am I ready to endure at least half a lifetime of teasing from my heroic best friends?" Magnus debated. He shrugged. "I suppose so.”

Alec waved off his words with a good-natured grin. “I don’t think they’ll be anything other than happy to see you,” his husband argued with a smile. The horse let out a quiet neigh, as if agreeing, and Magnus began to turn his own steed around, ready for the rest of the ride to Ash Tower, where Cat and Ragnor would return to.

“Oh, Alexander, the grovelling I must undertake," Magnus said. The sun was soon to set, but the forest path ahead was warm and bright. Relaxing in the muted, Spring colours around them, Magnus then shook his head, all signs of contempt vanishing as he smiled fondly.

“I’ve missed them terribly,” he admitted. His voice was quieter now, letting the absence show.

Alec nudged his horse closer, and reached out to brush his thumb under Magnus' chin. 

"Then, Your Majesty," Alec said, "let's fix that."

~

They’d cleared out Ash Tower for the day, in case there was any foul play when Catarina and Ragnor returned. Their note said to expect no dangers, but still, Magnus was wary. And so, today's classes were taken outside, and the floors were empty, save for desks, chairs and the leftover aroma of a spell that left the smell of afternoon rain in the air.

Closing the front door, Magnus stepped into the open space, Alec to his left. It was always nice to visit this place, but he'd felt haunted by his friends' deal. Now, he could relax, and stop seeing the Tower as anything other than a place of happy reunions.

Hopefully.

For a second, something glistened in the stone wall. But Magnus was too distracted to question it, and he pushed his curiosity aside. It'd probably been a catch of the light.

Pacing across the floorboards, Magnus stretched out, first wiggling his fingers, and then closing his eyes. He concentrated on the central force of his magic. Today, it seemed to reside in his throat, like an unspoken confession. It made sense. He was tensed and excited, eager but worried. His magic wanted to leap out, vocalise itself. It was alive and terrified, just like he was.

“Hey, you,” Alec murmured. His voice ghosted across Magnus’ ear. The king had come to stand behind him, not touching, but leaning closer. His words tickled Magnus’ earlobe, and the warlock tilted his head slightly to the right, body instantly relaxing to let Alec into his space. 

Alec sensed the invitation, and a few moments later, his hands were working at the tense knots in Magnus’ shoulders. Magnus sighed, leaning back against Alec’s chest. The calm before the storm always required this; warmth, solitude, the promise of not being alone.

And Magnus wasn’t. His husband was, as always, by his side; armed with a sword, smile and enchanting eyes that could break any spell.

Those eyes now crinkled at the corners as Alec smiled down at him. He quietly said, “It’s going to work out.” The light pressure of his exhales anchored Magnus. He smiled. Alec’s words weren't empty promises. Magnus didn’t sense that his husband was lying; he genuinely believed it would work itself out.

Magnus smiled then. How far they’d both come, together. The belief, and trust, radiated inside his body, softening the spikes of rising fear and energy. He slowly turned, resting his chin in the crook of Alec's shoulder as he embraced him. Alec hugged him, something equally soft and fierce in the gesture.

_It'll be okay,_ Alec's arms promised. _Whatever happens, you're not alone_ , his careful words vowed.

Pulling back, Magnus nodded. He let out a slow breath, directing his attention once more to the magic within him. He'd hoped not to fight today, but just in case, he needed to be prepared. 

Alec sensed the shift in his mood, and said, "They'll be here soon, but...you're ready otherwise?" He waited a beat, until Magnus had nodded once more, and then Alec's lips twitched. "I still think you should’ve let us take some guards," he said.

Magnus felt his smile turn sly. “And miss an opportunity to make sweet Jace worry?” he asked, tutting. "That'd be..."

Again, the glint caught his eye, like a shard of glass had slotted itself into the tower's wall.

_Ah. I see._

It clicked into place then, and Magnus rolled his eyes.

“Alexander," Magnus began, trying to hide his grin, "I’m fairly certain our dear friends have found a way to keep an eye on us after all. But the thing about window spells, is that they work _both_ ways," he said, pointedly raising his voice. His eyes trained on the spot on the wall that had caught his eye earlier. He grinned, sweeping into a low bow.

“Greetings,” he called out.

Beside him, Alec was half-gaping, half-laughing. His laughter grew louder as the spot on the wall shimmered like glass, opening up to reveal the cheerful traitors on the other side.

Their spying friends and family were in Jace’s room, gathered around the spell’s window, and sheepishly revealing themselves to the amused kings. 

Jace was the first to wave. “Uh, hey," he said, his shaggy hair falling a little into his eyes. "So _this_ is what the spell does. Now we know.” His innocent look didn't reach his eyes, but Magnus didn't scold him, or any of them. It was endearing that they'd attempted to spy on a warlock who had worked on creating the spell itself. 

But he'd save that smug satisfaction for later.

Isabelle nodded, nudging Clary until she solemnly joined in, settling her smirk into a thin-lipped expression. The three of them were strong, clever people, but in that moment, they looked like guilty children, and Magnus smirked as they squirmed. 

Alec stepped forwards. "We’ll be fine, Jace," he reassured. Suddenly, he cleared his throat, hesitating. “And…How long have you been watching?” he asked slowly. His ears were turning pink, and Magnus realised why when Isabelle quirked an eyebrow, mischief colouring her expression.

“Did we catch the impromptu massage?” the princess asked. “Don’t worry, big brother, we looked away. Your dignity is intact." 

“Iz-“

Before Alec could finish his splutter, Magnus held a hand up, cutting through the conversation.

As sweetly as he could, he said, “While this has been…endearing, if not mildly insulting,” he added, arching an eyebrow and feeling proud when his friends - again - squirmed from the other side of the spell’s window, “now it’s time to leave. Your brother will be fine,” Magnus added quietly, locking eyes with Jace. The knight nodded, eyes softening.

“I’ll protect him if anything goes wrong. I always will.”

A commotion on the other side of the spell made the trio leap back, and they rushed out a final chorus of 'good luck' and 'be safe!' before turning away. The shimmering window faded with a quiet chime, like bells, and then the quiet returned.  

Before Magnus could boast about creating the spell, Alec stroked a hand across his jaw, fingers splaying out. The touch was gentle, but Magnus forget every other word he'd prepared. 

"I've got your back too, you know," Alec quietly promised. His eyes twinkled impishly as he added, "I'm rather fond of it." 

The way his voice dipped lower sent a delicious shiver across Magnus' back. He returned the hungry look, but reminded himself that there was a more pressing issue at hand.

“Save that talk for later, Alexander,” Magnus invited, and then turned back around, checking that the space was entirely cleared. There was nothing else to be done, other than wait for his friends to appear. There was no need for a portal, or summoning circle. Their deal would sort their return out.

Magnus clung to that hope, refused to part with it. Or them. He _would_ see his friends again. It was time.

"Hey, Magnus, we’re ready for them." Alec's voice was low, calming. "It’s up to them now. We’ve done our part," he finished, leading Magnus backwards and away from the empty space on the floorboards. Magnus knew he was right. He just didn’t want to submit to waiting. He’d been impatient in the past, but he’d learned to cool it now, to understand that sometimes, mortal, immortal or otherwise, things needed time.

Magnus sighed. He reached around and linked Alec’s arms around his waist, enjoying the warmth of Alec’s breath as the king laughed. His chest vibrated, the sensation pleasant and calming as they waited. He knew that Alec was just as anxious, but he wanted to let Magnus express his worries first.

Getting used to this kind of selfless love had taken Magnus a long while. He’d lived and loved for countless years, but each one spent with Alec, was a new kind of journey. Their duties gave them reasons to fight, but love gave them the courage to _want_ to.

“It’s almost time,” Alec warned, reluctantly pulling his arms free. He came to stand beside Magnus. His knuckles were straining and white as he gripped his sword’s hilt.

Over the past years, Magnus had seen that sword swung and cleaned, shiny steel and stained blood. He’d been there, always, fighting beside Alec. Although there had been nothing close to the war with Valentine, there had been a handful of fights against the last of Valentine’s followers. A small band of knights and sorcerers had tried to organise a siege against the castle, but with the kingdom’s allies in the Shadowlands and Idris, they were quickly subdued.

It had been the first time Magnus was completely certain in those around him. It was proof that their unity wasn’t just because of a scroll, or a crown. It wasn’t because of a birthright or forced obedience. It was loyalty, simple and given of free will.

Gone were the ages of submission and divides. It was a changing time, and Magnus and Alec were leading it; out from the shadows and into a new day, improving relations between all of their kinds. 

After another minute of silence, Magnus couldn’t take it anymore. “Perhaps I read the message wrong. Let me see again-“

His words were cut off.

He felt it before he saw it, felt the sharp spike of energy, and then he turned, the curving brightness mapping out a large circle on the floor of the tower. It was a swirl of red and orange, burning as it cut across the wooden slats. It finished the rotation, spreading out to form the opening to Edom.

For one, long, terrible moment, there was only silence. The flames died down, the circle remained, but a quiet sense of foreboding licked at Magnus’ insides.

Had something gone wrong?

Were his friends unable to return?

Was Edom preventing-

Just as he’d started to advance towards the circle – damn his father to a further place, Magnus _would_ be seeing his friends today – another spike in power rose. It ripped like warm water across his skin this time, and settled between his ribs, caught between tickling and scratching.

It was a familiar essence. Two, in fact.

Catarina and Ragnor didn’t fade into view. Not a sound broke the moment. There was space, and then they were there, the pair filling it suddenly, without a sound.

Magnus had expected light and fire, or the cold flash of powerful magic. Instead, his friends were suddenly back, standing before him, and all he could do was stare, gaping like a fool.

_They're back..._

The warlocks were clad in elegant robes of gray and black, the swirls like dyed clouds across their figures. Cat’s blue skin was warm under the candlelight, and Ragnor’s horns looked just as sharp as Magnus recalled. His friends glanced around, blinking at their new surroundings.

There was a brief silence. The figures were all held in place by some unspoken rule, a strange pocket of time between waiting and acting, hoping and seeing, believing.

_They’re really here,_ Magnus thought to himself, as though saying it aloud would break the spell, make them disappear.

He was frozen, overcome by relief.

As Magnus started to open his mouth, and speak, Ragnor let out a deep sigh. He spread his arms wide, extending them towards the waiting warlock.

“Don’t rush to greet us or anything,” Ragnor said curtly.

It was all Magnus needed to hear. The proof he’d been waiting for. He rushed forwards and threw himself into his friend’s arms, burying his head in Ragnor’s collar, and reaching behind for Catarina. The other warlock smiled, tears already brimming in her eyes, and wrapped her arms around the both of them, keeping the trio pinned together, warm bodies and happy grins.

“My dears,” Magnus whispered, “are you safe? Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Over-dramatic as always, I see,” Ragnor teased, and Cat swatted the back of his head. He winced, muttering a curse under his breath.

“We’re fine,” Catarina answered with a smile. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and said, “Just very happy to see you.”

“And I, you,” Magnus professed, beaming. He still had an arm around both of their shoulders, keeping them close to him. He hugged them again, clinging tightly. Ragnor didn't speak. He didn't complain about how tightly Magnus was holding onto him. Instead, the horned warlock softened, his hand coming up to rest against Magnus’ back as he embraced him.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Ragnor quietly said. “I would gratefully accept a cup of tea, however-“

“Done,” Magnus interrupted. He snapped his fingers once, and a saucer and cup appeared in his friend’s hands, the liquid at the scolding hot temperature he knew Ragnor approved of.

Ragnor took one, long sip. A look of pure bliss crossed his face. “Oh, this is divine,” he mumbled, taking another sip. “The tea in Edom is _dire_ in comparison. I found ash at the bottom of the mug once.” He shuddered at the memory, but his eyes lit up with happiness as he cradled the cup.

Catarina watched over both of them fondly, and shook her head when Magnus asked her the same question.

“No, thank you,” she said, “I’m just glad to be back. Really.” Her smile turned sharp as she glanced behind, to where Alec was patiently waiting.

“Don’t you two look divine,” Cat said sweetly.

Before Magnus could comment, Ragnor chimed in, “Do the crowns come with matching egos?” He arched an eyebrow. “Those crowns are awfully…gold,” he settled on the word with suspicion. He placed the cup down on the table and asked, “Why is it that _you’re_ wearing a crown, old friend?”

Now it was Magnus’ turn to let his smile turn smug.

He waited until Alec was standing by his side, and then he said, “Cat, Ragnor, may I introduce-“

“-the king of Idris. Yes,” Ragnor interrupted, “we know. We weren’t completely ignorant down there, you know. We figured you’d be crowned by now.” He smiled politely at Alec. “Congratulations. I trust Idris hasn’t fallen so soon?”

Before Magnus could hear Alec’s answer, he quickly rose his voice. “ _Actually_ ,” Magnus began, making it clear where the attention ought to be. He raised their linked hands, holding them up, the rings flashing unmistakably. “I was going to say, ‘may I introduce my _husband_?”

Their reactions were just as satisfying as he’d hoped they’d be.

Catarina blinked very slowly, and Ragnor made a sound that was caught between a choked cough and a gasp.

Eventually, Ragnor regained his composure. He said, awed, “You actually did it, you brilliant bastard." There was undeniable pride in his voice. He nodded, and the approval was clear. “Again, congratulations. I trust that between the _two_ of you,” he corrected, “Idris hasn’t fallen in our absence?”

“More like the opposite, I imagine,” Cat defended. Magnus shot her a grateful look.

“We’re making progress,” Magnus allowed himself to smile as he revealed. “We’ll always have to look over our shoulders, and be careful who to trust, but our alliances are strong, and the kingdom is far more peaceful than it was before.”

“And the tensions between kingdoms and the Shadowlands are settling,” Alec continued on with ease. “As Magnus said, it’ll take more time, but we’re on the right path. Now more than ever before, we need people like you to be on our side,” Alec said to their stunned warlocks. He smiled at the pair. “Your return is one we’ve been looking forwards to. You’re very dear to my husband, and I hope, excellent allies to myself. Welcome back,” he finished, extending his hand.

Ragnor and Cat appeared taken aback. For a few moments, they simply stared, and Magnus was reminded, once again, of the differences in Alec. How sure and definite he must seem now. His temperament was still the same, but like Magnus, there were subtle changes; the kind that came from ruling, but also loving.

His friends shook the offered hand, and Cat was the first to speak this time.

“Thank you,” she graciously said to Alec, and then flashed her grin at Magnus. “So, what’s this I hear about a celebration?”

“Our two year anniversary,” Magnus proudly announced, shoulders swaying as he preened. His friends didn’t roll their eyes, to his surprise. There was only love and warmth in their smiles, not a hint of annoyance in Ragnor’s gaze.

“About that,” Alec quickly said, “I hate to rush you, but it took a lot of effort to get away today. We should return to the castle before I cause a war.”

“Another one?” Ragnor asked innocently. When everyone shot him a glare, he shrugged. “Too soon. Fair enough.”

Alec took it all in his stride. He simply said, “I don’t suppose Edom was any better?”

“Yes, do tell us,” Magnus added hastily. He headed for the door, opening it with a flick of his wrist. As they took the steps down, he asked, “How was your time there? Don’t…Don’t withhold any details. Whatever happened, I want to know.”

If his friends had suffered, he’d share that burden, he’d help them to heal as much as he could.

Ragnor made a noise of disapproval. “Darling, it was drab,” he said, lips curling in disdain. “Consider it a darker, duller version of this kingdom. Less castles, more demons, and your father’s absurd collection of churches.”

“Churches?” Magnus asked, interest piqued. He led his friends over to the two other horses that Luciana had left here waiting.

As Ragnor mounted his, he spoke calmly. “I think Asmodeus considers it an ongoing rebellion against his own father. Reigning in hell and building holy places within it. The realm is connected to others, and the circle of Higher Demons do enjoy parading about their domains. It was rather sad, after a while. There’s no love down there,” Ragnor said, “no awareness of feeling, or heart. We had each other,” he added, “but everyone else, they’re…isolated. Lesser demons savage the land, and the people rely on an indifferent ruler to care for them. I’m glad to be gone, but…we did our part. We used our time wisely and taught the people how to fight, how to protect themselves.”

Magnus thought this over, running his tongue across his lips. "So," he said carefully, "what did dear old dad have to say about this?”

This wasn't what he'd expected to hear, but hadn't Asmodeus made it clear that taking the years had been the greatest gift?

Catarina shrugged. “Why would he care? As long as he has his people's obedience, and they submit, they can kill as many lesser demons as they’d like. They’re interested in the hell realms, not here. It’s a mercy that they don’t realise what they’re missing up here.”

That made Magnus frown. He settled his boots into the leather stirrup and asked, "And what’s that?”

His friends exchanged a long look, and when they smiled, Magnus saw relief, but also gratitude, and joy. 

"Loyalty of the _heart_ ," Cat said. "Trust. Friendship. Memories not built on submission. Humanity, and the strange, little perks of being in this kingdom.” She gestured around at the surrounding forest, slowing turning darker as the sun set. 

"How's the mortal body treating you?" Ragnor asked. He spoke airily, but Magnus sensed his friend's concealed concern.

He let himself smile. "It's wonderful," he said, truthfully. And it was. His power hadn't diminished in the slightest over the years, and there was a new freedom in being able to grow old one day. 

Although they needed to ride soon, in time to introduce the banquet, Magnus allowed them a few more moments. 

“Glad to be back?” Magnus softly asked, and Catarina nodded.

“Very.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand once, beaming across at Ragnor who was riding beside Cat.

Alec cleared his throat, inclining his head in the direction of their castle.

"Shall we?"

~

As they headed away from the Tower and rode towards the castle, the newly returned warlocks gave a little more insight into Edom. Having never been, Magnus was equally as fascinated as Alec was; hearing how it was similar to their kingdom, granted, a 'bit warmer' according to Cat, but otherwise ruled fairly. The Greater Demon took pride in his land, ruling over the lower demons and creatures.

Magnus was surprised to learn that Catarina and Ragnor had not been the only warlocks in Edom. They were scattered about the land, keeping to corners of Edom, or working as soldiers for Asmodeus.

This was how his two friends stayed occupied, and in the know. They’d stayed at the main castle, where his father could keep an eye on them, but Magnus believed his friends were telling the truth when they said the worst thing about the place was the lack of banquets.

“Your father’s castle is rather impressive,” Ragnor was saying, running a hand through the horse’s mane. “Lovely view of the sunset. Or perhaps it was demons burning. Who knows?” Ragnor shrugged.

When the pair laughed again, Magnus was overwhelmed by how _present_ they were, how familiar it was to joke and laugh once again with them.

“You’re…really alright?” Magnus asked, at disbelief. They exchanged a long glance, only understanding and kindness in their silence. They nodded.

The ride back to the castle was pleasant, filled with the setting sun and streaks of colour swirling into the clouds. They took turns filling the other in; Magnus and Alec on their adventures, and Cat and Ragnor on theirs.

Mostly, they were just happy to be beside each other, and the ride itself was the best gift to share.

As the first set of villages appeared on the outskirts of the forest, Ragnor mentioned something that piqued Magnus' interest.

“Edom," his friend said, "had some trouble with the lesser demons who returned after Valentine’s war."

Magnus had been expecting this, wondering if they'd scattered down below, as well as amongst the Shadowlands. 

He asked, "Did you two-“

“Get roped up in dealing with it?” Ragnor cut him off, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was part amusement, part mild irritation, and _hell_ , Magnus had missed him.

Cat smoothed things over. “It was no doubt a similar situation here." She glanced between the two kings. "Tidying up and moving on?”

Alec nodded, business-like, but smiling. “Yes,” he agreed.

Magnus added, “Luckily for the kingdom, Idris had an enchantingly beautiful king leading the people.”

“And yourself too?” Ragnor asked innocently.

Magnus gave him a pointed look. “Charming as ever, my dear.” Before his friend could protest, or bite back another no doubt sweet addition, Magnus blew him a kiss and promised, “You may sass me for the entire night and I will not say a word of protest."

Ragnor blinked in astonishment. “Do you really mean that?” he asked quietly.

It was endearing that _this_ was the promise that made his best friend teary-eyed.

Magnus nodded, praying his expression was solemn as he said, “I swear it. Tonight is your night, my dears. There is a celebration awaiting your return. Well, it’s our celebration, but it wouldn’t be here without you. _I_ wouldn’t be here without you,” Magnus softly finished.

As they came to the final leg of their journey, talking and bickering and everything in-between, the smaller, hollow parts in Magnus’ soul began to fill. The tucked-away corners of worry were fading away. Ragnor and Cat were back. They were together again. He couldn’t wait to show off the kingdom he’d birthed alongside Alec and the others.

His heart was at its strongest peak.

He felt eyes on him, and turned to see Alec grinning, face flushed a healthy pink from the journey. He was divine, adorned in regal attire, the familiar, golden crown, and a beauty that continued to steal any hope Magnus had of remaining dignified.

He sighed, drawing their horses closer together. Alec was already waiting as his lips met his, deepening it, but only for a few moments. He heard the pair beside them whistling, and Magnus felt his lips tugging into a smile. Alec smiled back, their lips still touching, sharing the space that was always theirs, always an intimacy ready and waiting.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Catarina said quietly, watching the pair with a soft look in her eyes. “In the past, you ran from love. Or others ran from someone they didn't understand. I’ve not seen a love like yours before, and I’m inclined to see it last a lifetime.”

Her words were sweet, but Magnus still gave Alec a mock-wince. "No pressure," he muttered to his husband. 

Alec rolled his eyes, but the gesture was won over by his smile. It was this wonderful, sunshine smile, content in giving it all to Magnus without reserve.

“I think,” Alec said, “that’s not going to be a problem.” He absently twirled the ring on his finger, a full rotation. “I’m holding onto this one.”

Ragnor made a sound in the back of his throat. Magnus just let the teasing roll across the group, enjoying every last jibe and raised eyebrow. He was delighted by their return, and just as happy to enjoy the evening ahead of them all.

Their progress over the years was worthy of celebrating, and more importantly, the kingdom had earned one last night off.

The outer ring of villages were crowded as the kings approached the castle. The crowds parted naturally, the royal knights already keeping an eye on the watchers, but Magnus didn’t feel threatened. These were his people. Really, they'd been his people even before he became king. There were downworlders and humans in the crowd, flashes of colour and horns and wings too. He surveyed them all with a proud look, occasionally waving if a child jumped up to get a look at their kings.

Alec didn’t revel in the attention, but Magnus knew his husband was equally pleased. Finally, Alec was ruling a kingdom with the direction he’d longed to strive for. He’d been pushed off his path and came back fighting twice as hard for a new one.

That's who Alec was, and always would be; a loyal fighter and ruler, determined to keep his people safe and his loved ones protected.

Someone close to the front of the dirt path extended their arms into the air. Ribbons – in an array of colours and lengths – streamed out over their path. A small, deep green one wove itself around Alec’s crown, and Magnus leaned forwards, laughing as he untangled it. He let his fingertips brush across Alec’s earlobe, the tentative touch making Alec shiver.

“Stop doing that.”

“I didn’t use magic. I swear.”

“Hm,” Alec huffed out, but he was sheepishly smiling as he ducked his head. Magnus felt his cheeks start to warm as well. He accepted why Ragnor and Cat were so entertained by their open affections.

How had he been so fortunate to end up here? Magnus mused; married, a king, and happy.

He’d always fought for order and peace, for adventure and love too, but this was something Magnus had never believed he could achieve: harmony. The kind that threaded between his heart, head and magic, letting his entire being feel wanted, and loved. _Accepted_.

The rising slope led up to the Lightwood Castle. The riders took it slowly, relishing in the warm evening settling around their person. The paces of their horses slowed, and the final stretch of the journey became peaceful. Noise from the village celebrations faded into the surrounding trees.

Up ahead, the shape of the castle began to appear.

The guards stationed at the main gate noted their approach, immediately turning to lift the black iron. People had gathered outside here too, visiting the market stalls outside. They now turned with excitement to see their kings.

Once again, the royal guards were careful to keep a distance. But they let the kings ride close to their people, sharing short exchanges. It was risky to dismount. Instead, Magnus settled for sending up some colourful sparks into the sky. He watched as the gathered children clapped and squealed.

“Show off,” Ragnor muttered. His grin gave him away, however, and Magnus winked.

“Jealous already?” he quipped.

The gates were fully risen by the time they approached. Heading inside, the hooves of their steeds clicked against the cobblestone of the courtyard square. There were people here too. All corners of the space were filled with stalls, cooking meat, and small fires. The night was fast approaching, and the air was beginning to grow cooler, yet the merry mood was infectious. The people were happy. They danced and drank, relieved to be united under the stars.

The riders headed down into the smaller alley, towards the stables. Two stable boys were waiting to take their horses away to rest. Magnus thanked the young boy, and patted his horse affectionately before letting her retire for the evening.

His night, on the other hand, was about to begin.

“My friends,” Magnus began, leading them to the front steps – grand, marble and worth the walk for the dramatic introduction to his new home. “Welcome.”

As Alec came around to stand by his right side, Magnus linked his arm through his husband’s, squeezing it. His fingers stroked across the clasp holding Alec’s cloak together, and he winked.

“Time to celebrate?” he suggested.

Alec lifted his chin. “Yes,” he said, before extending a hand towards Magnus. “May I escort His Majesty to the Great Hall?”

Magnus was delighted to play along. “You may,” he murmured, “and if you’re lucky, you may even score a dance later on." He leaned in and said, "It depends on how soon we can get Jace intoxicated on wine. I think that man loves disrupting our privacy a little too much, dear."

Alec laughed then. His smile softened with fondness, watching as Magnus slipped his palm into the other king’s waiting one. Their wedding bands reflected, warm and golden under the castle’s outside lanterns. Magnus smiled down at the bands, still overwhelmed that every day, he got to look at them. He got to embrace a future like this; where their love was no longer something to shy away from, but to grow within.

“In your own time,” Cat said sweetly, but her lips twitched as Magnus sent her a scowling look. She shrugged it off, and began hiking her dress up as she reached the first step.

“Wait,” Magnus quickly ordered, halting his friends. He shook his head, pressing his lips firmly together as he studied his closest companions.

“You, my dears,” he said solemnly, “are getting changed first. Is that…Is that ash on your dress?” he asked faintly. He stared at the smudge across Cat’s hemline and winced. “None of that in _my_ castle.”

Cat and Ragnor inclined their heads towards Alec – the traitors, Magnus thought, trying to appease to his husband.

Magnus felt rather smug when Alec simply chuckled.

“Normally,” Alec began, “I’d fight for your corner,” he told the two warlocks. He glanced towards Magnus, and then back again. “However, my husband is particular about aesthetics. Which isn’t my strong suit. So, yeah, I’ll let him take the reins on this one.”

"See?" Magnus said. "Obey your kings' command, darlings."

Although Ragnor glared, he sighed in surrender. "You two are as sickening as you are endearing,” his friend muttered, but he'd already begun to survey his attire.

Ragnor thought for a moment before snapping his fingers, changing into a set of deep, midnight blue robes, complete with a velvet sash and silver stitching. He held out his arms for inspection.

Magnus pretended to think for a few seconds. He nodded in approval, and then waited for Catarina. She sighed, but reluctantly switched to a velvet gown of brown-orange, the colour of fallen leaves. It complimented her skin and flattered her curves. Her hair was now up, coiled into a bun with a few, free springing curls.

“Better?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Magnus didn’t push his luck and nodded once more. “Yes,” he said, “you’re more than ready to make your debut.”

Ragnor tugged Catarina towards the steps. As the pair headed up, Magnus cleared his throat, tugging Alec by the elbow to face him. The other king cocked his head, waiting.

Holding Alec's gaze, Magnus pictured the new clothes in his mind before clicking his fingers. They couldn’t very well enter the hall in riding gear, and Magnus certainly didn’t trust either of them to make a trip to their chambers anything other than...lengthy. 

“Ah. Matching,” Alec mumbled. He smiled down at their new attire. He ran his hands slowly against the fabric. Magnus watched, endeared as always by Alec’s enjoyment of magic.

He’d gone for something elegant and classy. Alec’s formal-fitting tunic reached his calves. It was a thick, ebony black colour with scarlet, laced trimmings down the centre folds. His breeches were black, as were his boots, but Magnus liked the dark red offset against the black. It enhanced the colours in the king’s eyes, as well as showing off his broad shoulders.

For his own apparel, Magnus had taken the same tunic and switched the colours; the main body of the fabric now a dark crimson, with black patterns etched down the centre folds of the lapels. It was regal; strong colours and sharp lines. Matched with the simplicity, it wasn’t overbearing or imposing to their people. It was proud, but not arrogant.

Magnus was pleased with the choices.

Apparently his husband was too. Alec was watching him quietly, no longer examining the clothes.

“Why did you wait until now?” he asked.

Suddenly feeling coy, Magnus said, “I like seeing your reaction first. I like the way you forget everything else. You forget your rank, your teachings, everything. You’re just a man reacting to his heart. You deserve that, almost as much as I deserve to see it,” Magnus teased quietly. He swayed into Alec’s space, and the king leaned forwards, pressing his lips softly to the warlock's.

He sighed into it, relaxing. After a moment, Magnus pulled back, sensing that Alec was getting restless. 

Their duties were calling, after all. 

Just as they reached the top steps of the castle, Alec held up Magnus' hand. He held it firmly and ran his thumb across the wedding band, smiling.

“Besides you," Alec quietly said, "this is my favourite thing to touch. It always reminds me of…We’ve come so far, haven’t we?” The smile that now flashed across Alec's face was beautifully youthful, not in age, but in honesty. It was one of those smiles that made Magnus flush, almost as much as a deep kiss did.

Alec now wore his vulnerability like a strength, relishing in the power of open affection.

It wrapped around Magnus, and nudged him forwards, again, into the king’s arms.

“We have, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, lips ghosting against his husband’s. “And,” he said, “we won’t get much further if your sister finds us taking our merry time while she frets in the hall.”

Alec winced. “Yeah, good point. Come on,” he invited, tugging at Magnus’ hand as they walked up to meet the two warlocks – and their people, friends and family- waiting inside.

~

The royal announcer gave the call.

The double doors swept open, revealing the two kings to their Court, and people. The Great Hall had been decorated as expected; lavish carpets, food piled high on long tables, and musicians sweeping cheerful music across the room.

Alec caught the first melody being plucked out and instantly relaxed. The sight of Jem leading the piece made Alec smile.

One by one, he picked out his friends and family in the crowd. Half the places at the long banquet tables had been taken. The rest of their people were standing and chattering loudly, wine loosening tongues and laughter. As soon as the kings were announced, the volume quietened. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Alec knew this now. It was respectful, and he didn’t shy away from his court’s glances.

He walked beside Magnus, matching the warlock’s strides. As they approached their place at the dais platform, the ever-present thrones awaited them.

Isabelle stood to the right of her brother’s throne, resting a hand on the arm, beaming down at him. His sister looked as beautiful as ever tonight, lovely in a gown of maroon velvet. Golden leaves were stitched into the collar and sleeves. Her whip was coiled around her arm, glistening almost as fiercely as the pride in her eyes.

Jace - now the leader of Alec's personal guards - stood beside Maryse. He gripped Alec's forearm, embracing him with a warm grin, and then Alec turned to his waiting mother. 

Maryse smiled, and he returned it, relaxing. Tonight was a night for harmony. Whatever debates and differences in opinions they’d had over the years was cooled with an air of shared fulfilment.

Tonight, they’d celebrate.

And so, Alec simply raised his mother’s hand to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss to the back of it, and smiled once more.

As they carefully proceeded up onto the platform, the kings turned, surveying their people, and kingdom. They sat down, the thrones now as familiar to Alec as the rising of the sun. It was his natural birthright to rule, but it was more than that now. He was here to lead and to rule, to shape a future they could all benefit from.

And the people had responded well to that.

Alec cleared his throat. The quiet noise faded to a waiting silence.

He smiled down at the tables of eager lords, ladies and other folk who’d come up to the castle; envoys, liaisons, and downworlders too. The invitation had been extended to the Shadowlands too. Alec was delighted to see Teva, Willow, Isaac and a few other familiar faces in the crowd. Luke and Jocelyn were seated beside Clary, who was exchanging a grin with Isabelle that Alec suppressed both a scowl and grin at.

His sister had found love, and so had he. There was nothing else to question, Alec knew that now.

Still not in favour of eloquent, long speeches, Alec just let the words come out. He was honest and proud. He could leave the witty remarks and poetics for Magnus.

“It takes more than a king - or two - to create change, to progress," Alec addressed the crowd. "It takes allies, and the courage to stand up for those with a silenced voice. Over the past two years, the loyalty and strength shown by this kingdom has been…inspiring."

Alec let his smile appear, keeping his voice steady as he continued on.

“This night wouldn’t be possible without your support. I’m proud to be here, as your king, and I have hope for many prosperous years ahead. People of Idris, tonight, we celebrate the path we took, and think back on those we lost along the way.”

He paused, offering the crowd a few moments pay their respects to their fallen. He thought briefly of his baby brother. Although his eyes begun to sting, Alec knew, without a doubt, that losses like Max would never be inflicted upon his people. He would fight every day to ensure that.

And somewhere, in the realm between memory and hope, Alec knew that Max was aware of this. Alec hoped that he was proud of his brother, and family, for shaping his memory into a kingdom’s road to recovery.

Alec would always miss Max. Everyone had someone they mourned for, longed for, or missed deeply. Holding their memory in your heart was one thing, but enduring the pain and letting in the light – and love – was even braver.

Alec turned his head, studying Magnus. Under the warm candlelight, his husband’s skin was smooth, warm brown and inviting. Alec longed to reach out, to hold Magnus, but he settled for raising an eyebrow, indicating towards the crowd.

Magnus nodded, understanding without a word. As per usual.

The warlock cleared his throat and began. “Two years ago, there was a war that almost tore apart the kingdom. We achieved victory through unity, through all kinds and creatures, men and women, coming together. That time was the birth of a new age, one without room for divides. I too,” Magnus said, smiling, “am honoured to be here, ruling Idris, ruling a people who can now turn to their own strength and flourish as one. So, please, drink, love one another, and embrace those around you, your equals. Always,” he finished, voice rising steadily. He never needed to call out. Everyone was already enraptured, leaning in and hanging onto his words.

Alec wore his pride openly, watching Magnus with adoration. He’d learned not to shield it. Even if he wanted to, how could he? His husband was a deity of grace and power. He was born to be loved, and Alec was the one who he’d chosen.

That, Alec thought, was the greatest joy in his lifetime. No strings attached. No hesitation or fear anymore. He was gifted an open heart, and gave his own back in return.

“What are you all waiting for?” Magnus teased, calling out with a flick of his hand, “There is wine to be drunk, and excellent food to devour. Celebrate,” he finished, snapping his fingers and holding out his palms. Alec watched alongside his people as blossoms and ribbons rained down, colours streaming across the room.

Magnus shrugged. “Can’t have a celebration without a little flair now, can we?”

Alec didn’t disagree. He held out his palm to catch one of the petals. He spotted Jace plucking some from Lydia’s hair, the pair laughing without a care as they held each other. Close to them, Raphael and Simon sat with Simon's mother, smiling as they celebrated.

Happiness and warmth filled the space like afternoon sunlight; soft, caring and settling with ease.

A goblet was suddenly held out before his nose, and Alec followed the extended arm, returning his husband’s grin. He plucked the stem from Magnus’ hands, and held it up, their goblets chiming pleasantly as they met halfway.

“To us,” Magnus said quietly, and he wiggled his ring finger. Alec’s smile widened, staring unashamedly at the ring, and then at the wonderful man who wore it, who’d married him and ruled beside him; given Alec a friend, a partner and a lover.

“To us,” Alec repeated. The word left his lips loudly, and Magnus blinked in surprise. The warlock swallowed, gazing between their rings, and Alec’s lips. He was leaning heavily against the arm’s throne, and he didn’t move any closer, although Alec sensed that he wanted to.

The surrounding noise was growing again, cheers and music and energetic talks whipping across the space. The room was alive, and so were their people, the start of a joyful night.

Alec glanced around, but his mother was engaged in a conversation with some lords and ladies, and Isabelle was using the excuse of refilling her goblet to chat with Clary and her family. Jace and Lydia were challenging Raphael and Simon to what looked like an intense juggling game.

There were no open eyes on the two kings. They were unobserved.

Alec turned back to face Magnus, eyes flicking down to his lips. They’d been open with their respect and loyalty towards each other, and the people had responded to it, but this, openly embracing, was still something Alec was tentative about. They’d shared dances at court, and fought side by side, yet the journey to liberation was always paved with bumps.

However, despite the occasional stares, in the years they’d been ruling together, Idris hadn’t been able to challenge the strength of Magnus and Alec’s love. Time and time again, they’d proven that it was an asset, not something to fear, or be seen as a weakness.

Their love was different to a kingdom used to seeing otherwise, but Alec had seen his people’s proud smiles and looks. He knew that the future they were building was worthwhile.

And so, he met Magnus’ eyes, nodded, and leaned closer-

“Kings of Idris,” a voice interrupted them, the royal announcer approaching with an oblivious smile. He didn’t sense Alec’s annoyance either, and the king briefly wondered if throwing a man in jail for disrupting a kiss ought to be a new law.

Instead, Alec plastered on a careful smile and nodded. “Yes?”

The announcer swept a hand to the side, revealing, “You have an eager visitor, Your Majesties.”

As soon as the young woman stepped into view, Alec’s frustrated faded. He grinned, nodding for her to come up the steps to greet them.

The girl, now a head taller, still looked up with sharp eyes, but the ribbon she once wore around her neck was gone, revealing her warlock mark with pride.

She spoke first, greeting Alec, “You didn’t lose him, after all.” The warlock girl inclined her head to the other king, her smile now containing a hint of a tease.

“No,” Alec agreed, laughing, “I didn’t.” He recalled their conversation in the library, during the awful time he’d once thought Magnus had been torn from him. The young warlock had given him courage then, and he was delighted to see the warm, healthy flush in Madzie's cheeks. The way she lifted her chin was unmistakably confident.

Magnus leaned forwards. “Hello, sweet pea,” he said cheerfully. “I remember you from our lesson in Ash Tower. You’re a powerful one, aren’t you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

She smiled back. “Madzie,” she confirmed, and stuck out her hand. Magnus returned it, his expression as openly fond as Alec’s. The two kings talked with the young warlock for a few minutes. They’d known she still took lessons at Ash Tower, but it was wonderful to see her, to see up close the impact they'd had on young lives. 

As soon as Madzie said goodbye and stepped down, Alec emitted a quiet groan. There was now a short line of people waiting to greet their kings. Alec exchanged a quick glance with his husband, sharing his frustration. But this was their duty, and they’d take it on, and make time for themselves within the fray of it all.

But it didn’t help that Magnus’ lips were curving into a wicked grin, as if knowing how desperately Alec wanted to chase them, wanted to kiss him.

_Later_ , Magnus’ wink seemed to say. Alec hid his eye roll, not wanting Idris to fear that they’d crowned an impatient, lustful king.

The queue of people went down quickly. It was mainly lords and ladies and citizens offering brief congratulations or expressing their support. It was rather pleasant, after getting over the initial disturbance. Alec shook hands, embraced allies and slipped into the leadership role with ease, knowing that Magnus was doing the very same thing with his own line.

When Teva and Willow approached, they addressed both of the kings, offering them some news on the Shadowlands. The warlocks also extended an invitation to their own annual festival in the upcoming month. Alec and Magnus agreed, thanking their friends and wishing them a good evening.

Amongst them, there were other familiar faces who came to offer the kings their time. Luciana had stepped down from her role as Magnus’ heir, now that Catarina had returned, yet her smile was genuine and warm as she greeted the warlock king. She hesitated, before embracing Magnus with a quick hug, who returned it happily. She stood with Maia, the young werewolf from Luke’s pack, and the two were now close friends, partners in their goals to unify the liaisons between werewolves and faeries. The relations between their groups was slowly improving, and they’d always attended Idris’ council meetings with excellent ideas.

Alec was pleased to see them, and even more pleased to see his friends happy and at peace. Their friendship was clearly mutual and respectful, the two girls moving together with an ease of familiarity and trust. Alec was glad to see it, knowing how rough their pasts and losses had born on them.

“You’re coming for the Seelie Court’s fall festival soon, yes?” Luciana asked. She arched an eyebrow at Magnus. “The season won’t come out without you.” She said it so solemnly that for a second, Alec watched his husband’s face fall.

And then she burst out laughing, the sound musical and warm. Alec joined in, unable to help it. Magnus clicked his tongue against his teeth, finally catching up.

“Seelies,” Magnus quipped, “you have the strangest sense of humour, my dear.” Before Luciana could retort, he added, “I wouldn’t change you for the world. Enjoy tonight, won’t you?”

The faerie nodded, smiling once more. She then hopped back down the stairs, dragging Maia off to find their place at the table.

Dancing had begun in the open space between the long tables, and Jem was leading a lively round of dances, with Will leaning against the wall with Tessa, the trio joined at the hip still after all the years had passed.

Alec gave them a little wave as they looked up, shaking his head in amusement when Will tried to steal Jem’s instrument, begging him for a dance. Tessa was already stepping in, kissing his cheek and using Will’s momentary stunned expression to help untangle Jem from his arms.

The next guest in their line stole Alec’s attention. He glanced away from his friends and continued to extend his good wishes onto his people, thanking them for coming.

As the night rolled on, the celebrations grew merrier, the dancers tapping out cheerful melody after melody. Alec spoke with many people, friends and strangers alike, and stole moments with Magnus whenever he could.

A handful of gifts were also given to the two kings - ranging from rare silks from the Summer Court envoys, to a pair of elegant, leather gauntlets gifted by the Blackthorn family. Foods and gifts were exchanged. Alec felt the evening mellow away, warmth from happiness and wine settling into his chest.

Now, only a handful of people remained in the line leading up to the throne. As Magnus said farewell to a warlock acquaintance, he turned in time to see the next pair approaching.

“Spare some time for your lowly friends?” a voice teased out, her red hair piled into a messy bun.

Alec met her look with a smirk, welcoming Clary, and his sister. Izzy was helping the other woman carry what looked like a thick carpet in her arms.

“Whatever are you carrying, biscuit?” Magnus inquired, peering at the material. He eyed it up, and then glanced at the pair, who exchanged a knowing look.

Isabelle half-turned, helping Clary to unroll the fabric. It was dark blue in colour, one shade off black, and was almost taller than the girl herself. Still, Clary and the princess shuffled around until the fabric was fully rolled out. They turned to face the kings, revealing the gift and all its beauty.

It was divine. Alec had never seen such craftsmanship. He’d known Clary was talented, but this was something else. The tapestry she’d woven was all strong colours and fierce lines, enchanting with the images she’d chosen to stitch into the fabric.

Alec didn’t just find the image familiar. He belonged to it, entirely: Two regal figures sat on two, tall thrones, bodies tilting towards the other. They held an air of grace and strength, power and nobility, but Clary had captured Magnus’ true eyes beautifully, and Alec’s hair had an untamed quality, and his eyes were not cold or lifeless, but rather, joyful. Clary had somehow woven their likeness into the tapestry. She'd made them kings, and lovers. It was a clever gift, one that would allow them to be seen entirely as they were.

“Thank you,” Alec said, gingerly holding one corner of the tapestry. He couldn’t look away, anchored by the beauty of the image. He narrowed his eyes, and teased, “Did you enchant it?”

“It doesn’t need any more beauty than your faces, dear brother,” Izzy was quick to defend, her eyes glistening with mischief. She stole a glance in Clary’s direction, and Alec warmed to it, was proud of Isabelle’s chosen love.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Magnus agreed. He smiled charmingly and said, “Thank you, Clary. It’s wonderful.”

A few attendants had already approached the platform, hovering beside the group. They assisted with the tapestry’s transfer into their arms, and then one of them, a petite, warlock girl with violet skin, asked, "Where should we place it, Your Majesty?"

“Hm,” Magnus said, tapping against his chin. He met Alec’s eyes and asked, “Well, darling? Where do you want it put up?”

Alec knew that he was seeking permission, agreement. It was clear from the steady look in the warlock’s eyes. He knew exactly where Magnus wanted it to be placed, where he wanted their love to be seen.

Exhaling slowly, Alec slipped his hand into Magnus’, gently running his fingers across the wedding band. He smiled, and then nodded once.

Turning back to the attendant, Magnus said, “We’ll hang it in here tomorrow, dear. In the Great Hall," he confirmed. "Once you’ve taken it to our chamber, you can enjoy the rest of your evening now. Thank you, Iulia.” He smiled kindly at the warlock girl. She curtsied once and left, helping the other two servers carry the tapestry away.

Alec smiled, relief and happiness filling up inside his chest. Every time he exhaled, he felt it, there within his heart. It was unmoving and unyielding, determined to remain forever.

As Clary and Isabelle left, sheepishly smiling to each other, Alec turned to Magnus and asked, “You’re sure?”

He was asking about the tapestry, but also about so much more. He was asking if the time was now, to take the next step. There would be many ahead, but this was a test he was willing to push tonight.

Magnus nodded, squeezing their joined hands. “The Great Hall,” he said, waving a hand in the direction of the gatherers. “We’ve earned our place on the walls. Together. Idris has two kings. It’s about time we let them see the extent of our alliance. And, so, yes, that tapestry will hang on these walls, and the kingdom will get to see our beautiful faces long after we’re gone.”

Alec chuckled, shaking his head in mild amusement. “How can I argue with that?” he asked, fighting to hide his grin.

His smile shifted when he saw Magnus still watching him. His golden eyes flashed, casting the mundane brown aside. He revealed them slowly, taking his time, but there wasn’t any hesitation in the revelation. He simply wanted to let Alec see him, see the change.

“The Great Hall,” Alec repeated, “yeah, that sounds…sounds good.” His voice was now a little breathless as he watched Magnus cock his head to the side. He was clearly aware of the effect he had on his poor husband.

“Then it’s settled, Alexander. Our tapestry will hang in here.”

Alec beamed, and rested his forehead against Magnus’, meeting the other king halfway as they touched. 

He was pleased with this, that they had a likeness of themselves that would remain, guiding the kingdom even when they both left the land. They would not live forever, and he was grateful for this. There was a time to live and rule, and a time to move on. When that time arrived, he’d pass on, loved and far from alone.

And although they’d leave behind more than a tapestry, it was a reminder, a small piece of them that would leave love within the walls of the castle.

Alec thought, _It’s where all the best stories live._

Inside the _heart_.

What tales would come after them? Alec wondered. One of two princes who became two kings. One where a legend became a story that would live long, even after both Alec and Magnus were gone.

Destiny had called, and they’d answered; challenging, changing and choosing it every step of the way.

Magnus covered his hand, glistening stones and rings grazing Alec’s fingertips, across the muted gold of the throne’s arm.

Cupping his cheek, Alec finally bridged the little gap left between them. When his lips touched Magnus', the warlock exhaled, breath warming Alec's mouth, capturing the relief, and joy in one. He deepened it, pushing closer and tangling his fingers around the nape of Magnus' neck. He stroked across the short hair there, a quiet groan escaping as Magnus' hands gripped in the folds of his tunic collar. 

It was soft and passionate, lingering for a few moments. 

No one gasped or looked aside, or even battered an eyelid. They were celebrating, more than ever before. 

Alec felt dampness prickle behind his eyelids. The relief he felt was overwhelming, and he leaned in to steal another kiss. In a world where demons existed, and prophecies could send you on a life-changing quest, Alec realised that two kings sharing a kiss was as natural as the rising sun. And it was exactly as it ought to be. Accepted. Respected. Honourable. 

It was a destiny he'd chosen, one they'd fought for, together. 

As Alec pulled back, he kept his arms entwined around Magnus' neck. He smiled softly.

Running a finger across his husband's brow, Alec admired the shimmering colours painted onto Magnus' lids. They were a beautiful, smokey gray; beautiful and enchanting like the warlock himself.

A memory flashed across his mind then, and Alec couldn't help but tease, "You have dust on your eyes."

As Magnus' body vibrated with laughter, the small boy in the library was reflected back at Alec in Magnus’ eyes. He could see his past, and present, and a waiting future ahead. 

Magnus nodded. "I do," he agreed quietly. "And you, my dear, Alexander, have stars in yours."

“Good. Keep chasing them with me?”

“Yes," Magnus breathed out. "I will chase them all with you."

Alec touched his lower lip, traced the curving bow and murmured, "Until the end?"

The devoted look in Magnus' eyes was unmistakable. He nodded. 

"Until the end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end!  
> I do hope it was a nice conclusion, I didn't want it too drawn out or abrupt either, so do let me know your thoughts! :) x  
> Again, thank you so much for supporting this story, and sending me all your love <3  
> Come find me on:  
> Tumblr - 'clockworkswans'.  
> Twitter - @clockworkswan96.  
> *hugs you all* thank you so much, really <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP, but the benefit of summer is that i have literally nothing else to do, so i hope to update regularly!  
> Come and yell at me on tumblr if i fail, my URL is 'swans-hooks-and-books'.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can, it takes seconds and makes a writer so very happy! <3  
> Tell me which parts you liked/lines that made you laugh or smile :)


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